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THE 


AGE   OF   GOLD 


AND     OTHER    POEMS 


GEORGE    LUNT. 


BOSTON : 
WILLIAM     D.     TICKNOR. 

MDCCCXLIII. 


Enterod,  arrortling  to  act  of  Confess,  in  the  year  11543, 

By   George   Lunt, 

in  the  Clerk'i  Offico  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maasachutetts. 


BOSTON  . 
Piiated  by  laaac  R,  Batu 
No.  3  School  Street 


CONTENTS 


It 


THE    AGE    OF    GOLD. 

PAOE 

Book  1 3 

Book  II 28 

Notes 55 


POEMS. 

A  Drbam 65 

The  Ballad  op  Lutzen 73 

Departure  of  the  Frigate 82 

Br^ODY  Brook 86 

To  an  Eagle 93 

To  A  Bird 97 

The  Brave  Old   World 99 


ivi205039 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

Thb  Skatbr 104 

Burning  op  thb  Towbr. 108 

Odb  fob  Poland 110 

Washinoton's  Elm,  Gambridob. 115 

Thb  Prbsidbnt's  Funbral  Hymn.    1841 118 

Pity   thb  Poor 121 

Hymn 125 

To  THB  English  Flag 129 

LovB  SoNO. 130 

LovB  Song 132 

Song 134 

Woman's  Tbabs. 136 

Thb  Old  Year.  -December,  1841 138 

Hymn 143 

Sonnet • 146 

To  a  Sick  Child 148 

I  Break  thb  Shell. 150 

Notes. 155 


THE    AGE    OF    GOLD, 


Fling,  fling  the  wayside  seed, — 

Give  it  a  firm  God-speed, — 
What  though  more  tempting  plantage  round  it  shoot? 

Thy  hope  hath  reached  its  goal, 

If  one  wayfaring  soul 
Pluck  healing  virtue  with  the  wholesome  fruit. 

Old  Verses. 


THE    AGE    OF    GOLD.^ 


BOOK    I. 


Auri  sacra  fames.  Virg. 

*  Some  walk  in  Honor's  gaudy  show, 
Some  dig  for  golden  ore  ; 
They  toil  for  heirs,  they  know  not  who, 
And  strait  are  seen  no  more." 


In  ancient  days,  when  Truth's  clear  river  rolled 
Through  ever-living  meads,  o'er  sands  of  gold  ; 
Ere  Nature  frowned,  as  fraud  and  force  began 
To  break  the  ties  that  fasten  man  to  man  ; 
But  a  just  parent,  to  her  offspring  kind, 
Her  equal  gifts  with  liberal  hand  assigned, 


4  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

And  flower  and  fruit  spontaneous  sprang  to  birth, 
In  rich  luxuriance,  from  the  lap  of  earth ; 
No  thirst  of  gain  unfurled  the  snowy  sail. 
Nor  foreign  gold  profaned  the  peaceful  vale ; 
But  boundless  plenty  heaped  an  unbought  pile, 
And  freedom  beamed  with  one  perpetual  smile ; 
While  the  calm  year  in  tranquil  course  flowed  by. 
And  spring  eternal  crowned  the  generous  sky. 

In  that  sweet  season  of  delicious  prime. 
Declining  Nature's  young,  romantic  time. 
From  manhood's  open  front  and  glorious  eye 
Immortal  shone  the  impress  of  the  sky  ; 
With  equal  flame  each  kindred  bosom  glowed, 
Nor  this  one  reaped  what  that  with  toil  had 

sowed  ; 
But  soft  as  seraphs'  wings  in  concert  move, 
Time's  gentle  pinions  lapped  the  world  in  love  ! 

Pure  fable  this,  the  wise,  perchance,  exclaim,  — 
The  bootless  record  of  an  idle  fame  ! 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  5 

Yet  taught  by  thee,  eternal  muse,  to  sit, 
With  patient  faith,  at  old  tradition's  feet, 
We  linger  fondly  o'er  the  Arcadian  dream. 
Nor  wholly  false  that  lovely  story  deem  ; 
'Mid  doubts  that  here  the  truth  has  little  part. 
We  fold  the  dear  delusion  to  the  heart  ; 
Turn  from  a  hollow  age,  well  pleased  to  see 
The  things  that  seem  more  like  the  things  that 

be. 
Hail    the    fond   hope,   when   life's   wild   cares 

annoy. 
And  bless  those  days  of  innocence  and  joy. 

And  as  from  some  sweet  fount,  whose  waters 

flow 
Less  and  less  pure  when  mixed  with  all  below, 
We  wishful  catch,  beyond  Time's  turbid  wave, 
Those  magic  hues  which  early  fancy  gave ; 
Scarce  real  deem,  perchance  more  dimly  seen, 
Through  many  a  cloud  and  storm  that  intervene, 


6  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Yet  turn  and  turn  again  our  backward  view, 
And  long  to  find  the  soft  illusion  true  ; 
Gaze  o'er  the  tinted  scene's  entrancing  dyes, 
The  pastoral  landscape,  and  the  sunnier  skies. 
The  primal  freshness  of  earth's  flowery  sod, 
Just  waked  to  beauty  by  the  breath  of  God, 
That  sweetest  theme  by  poet  ever  sung. 
Fit  to  persuade  or  mould  the  tuneful  tongue, 
While  many  a  living  line  and  pictured  page 
Stamp  the  bright  era  as  the  Golden  Age  ! 

From  thoughts  like  these  we  wake  —  the  jost- 
ling strife 
Of  eager  thousands  startles  us  to  life  ! 
The  dream  dissolves  —  the  lovely  vision  flies  — 
No  marvel  doubts  should  veil  our  clouded  eyes  ; 
The  Golden  Age  !  alas,  let  truth  be  told. 
The  age  we  live  in  is  the  Age  of  Gold  ! 
Slaves  to  the  sordid  and  relentless  dust. 
Mammon  our  idol,  gathered  ore  our  trust, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  7 

Not  in  the  crowded  mart  or  busy  quay, 
Where  Traffic's  sons  hold  undisputed  sway, — 
Not  there  alone  the  mighty  passion  rules 
The  heads  of  wise  men  and  the  hearts  of  fools, 
But,  spreading  broadly  through  the  general  mind, 
Infects  the  race,  and  desecrates  mankind. 

The  times  have  been,  when  blessed  with  buoy- 
ant health, 
That    boon    more    precious    than    exhaustless 

wealth, 
The  hardy  yeoman,  on  his  furrowed  plain 
With  annual  stores  imbrowned  of  waving  grain, 
Met  the  new  day  with  cheerful  splendors  dressed. 
There  saw  him  sink  behind  the  glowing  west. 
Beneath  the  harvest  moon   brought  home   his 

store, 
Welcomed  his  ruddy  children  at  the  door, 
Well  pleased  the  busy  housewife's  care  to  see, 
Took  each  bright  urchin  on  th'  accustomed  knee. 


8  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Smiled  round  his  home  unchanged  by  fashion's 

art, 
And  ate  his  frugal  meal  with  thankful  heart. 
Content  with  little,  all  life's  wants  supplied, 
Pleased  with  enough,  and  happy  without  pride. 
Taught  the  great  lesson.  Nature's  noble  plan. 
That  something  more  than  riches  makes  the  man. 
Left  to  their  gilded  plagues  th'  unenvied  great, 
And  brought  up  men  who  well  sustained  the 

state. 
But  now  too  oft  with  baser  passions  filled. 
And  loth  to  till  the  fields  his  fathers  tilled, 
Contending  hopes  and  fears  assail  his  breast, 
Uimerve  his  frame,  and  rob  his  soul  of  rest. 
What  anxious  demon  ploughs  his  aching  brow, 
His  hsiggard  eye  and  pallid  cheek  avow  ; 
Some  fatal  moment  tempts  him  to  admire 
Fields  not  his  own,  or  prompts  to  ape  the  'squire  ; 
Acres  to  acres  adds,  but  sighs  for  more. 
Till  now,  like  Nabal  grown,  he  robs  the  poor ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  y 

And,  conscience  lost,  but  still  on  gain  intent, 
Risks  more  than  all,  to  win  some  ce7it  per  centj 
Till  the  burst  bubble  swallows  up  the  whole,  — 
A  broken  fortune  and  a  ruined  soul ! 

% 
Nor  this  the  worst ;  go,  follow  him  who  strays 

Through   crowded    streets,    along   the    world's 

broadways. 
Where  gilded  vice  pursues  his  daily  race. 
And  conscious  fraud  scarce  hides  her  blushless 

face  ; 
Where  bankrupt  merchants  shine  with  hoarded 

gains, 
And  smile  at  honest  men  for  lack  of  brains, 
And  wiser  grown,  now  modern  codes  prevail, 
No  longer  point  the  pistol,  when  they  "  fail," 
While  broken  honor,  flushed  with  new-fledged 

hope. 
Presents  no  potion  and  suggests  no  rope. 


10  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Let  not  the  modest  muse,  indignant  grown, 
Teach  the  lax  morals  she  would  fain  disown  ; 
Not  hers,  I  ween,  the  poisoned  bowl  to  reach, 
Or  counsel  sin  to  grace  a  flower  of  speech  ; 
From  nobler  springs  her  inspirations  rise, 
Those  winged  words  that  sounding  reach  the 

wise,^ 
Be  these  her  arrowy  shafts  ;  so  taught  to  deem 
Man's   mighty   stake   above    the    world's   vain 

dream  ; 
Scorns  the  mean  trappings  of  the  gilded  slave, 
But  counts  it  weakness  to  be  madly  brave  ; 
Folly  to  faint,  though  every  hope  be  crossed, 
Or  die  like  Cato  for  a  world  well  lost. 


Traditions  tell  of  days,  when  sober  trade 
With  competence  a  life  of  toil  repaid, 
Spread  honest  comforts  round  declining  age,  — 
Wealth's  fruits  pursued  with  no  insensate  rage  ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  11 

The  wise  king's  wisdom  yet  made  some  pretence, 
Men  slowly  gained  but  kept  their  innocence !  3 
'T  was  then,  in  times  more  honest  if  more  rude. 
When  the  proud  merchant  made  his  credit  good. 
Or,  dreading  ^^  failure,"  felt  as  one  might  feel. 
Doomed   to   the   rack    or   stretched    upon   the 

wheel  ; 
With  manful  struggles  strove  to  keep  his  ground. 
Held  his  firm  step  on  fortune's  giddy  round. 
Thought  o'er  the  widow's  sighs,  the  orphan's 

tears. 
The  poor  man's  curse,  the  weary  waste  of  years. 
The  all  of  ruin,  and  the  worse  than  death. 
Once  the  grim  train  that  followed  unkept  faith, 
When  plighted  honor  was  a  steadfast  thing, 
And  every  broken  word  a  scorpion-sting. 
But  if  arrive  it  must  the  fatal  hour. 
Bankrupt  in  cash,  and  credit  lost  its  power, 
As  when  some  portent  shadowing  future  ill. 
Sinks  on  the  gazer's  heart  with  sudden  chill. 


12  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

His    wondering    neighbors    heard    the    tidings 

dread, 
Serious  and  sad,  as  if  the  man  were  dead ! 
The  rumor  ran  where  crowds  collected  meet, 
Even  eager  children  cried  it  through  the  street, 
And  gathering  throngs  beheld  the  ^'  sign  "  come 

down. 
Spread  the  strange  news,  and  fired  the  startled 

town  ! 
While  he,  with  aching  heart,  and  brow  of  gloom. 
Unseen  on  'Change,  kept  garrison  at  home  ; 
To  shame,  to  safety  paid  their  just  regard. 
His  portal  bolted  and  his  shutters  barred  ; 
Sure  that  with  interest  deep  his  friends  would 

call. 
Conceived  it  best  to  treat  behind  the  wall ; 
Paid  or  compounded  *'  in  a  bondman's  key," 
And  gained  at  length  a  tardy  liberty ; 
Yes,  paid  perchance  each  coin  of  borrowed  pelf, 
And  left  no  man  a  beggar  but  himself. 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  13 

But  now,  alas,  the  world  so  selfish  grown. 
Men  boldly  count  their  neighbors'  wealth  their 

own  ; 
So  false  life's  sober  theory  may  seem, 
When  only  gold  inspires  ambition's  dream ! 
And  the  wild  schemer  of  a  reckless  age, 
The  modern  alchymist,  no  more  a  sage, 
Holds  it  impossible,  by  codes  in  vogue. 
That  any  monied  man  should  be  a  rogue. 
The  Roman's  cutting  maxim  leaves  half  told. 
Clips  off  the  honest  clause^  and  says,  ^'  get  gold  !  " 
And  quite  forgot  the  nobler  thoughts  that  urge 
Man's  deeper  soul  beyond  creation's  verge. 
Prompt  the  proud  impulse,   wake  the  generous 

strife. 
Give  statesmen  honor  and  the  hero  life. 
Spring  to  the  patriot's  lips  with  fervid  glow. 
Exalt  the  high  and  elevate  the  low, 
In  pealing  strains  attest  the  living  lyre, 
And    stir    the    slumbering    soul's   unquenched 

desire,  — 


14 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 


Such   as  could  raise  the  mind  and  swell  the 

heart 
To  Nature's  dignity,  above  all  art, 
When  laurels  graced  the  hero's  humble  door, 
And  honest  statesmen  nobly  dared  be  poor, 
Some  old  Fabricius  of  Rome's  better  days, 
Some  elder  Adams  worth  a  Spartan's  praise ;  — 
Till  blank  creation  darkens  round  the  view, 
Nor  hope's  enchanting  aspect  brightens  through 
Life's  sober  sin  and  all  that  chills  the  page 
Of  a  cold,  cautious,  calculating  age. 


Nor  deem  it  strange  the  etherial  muse  should 

hold 
Her  treasures  richer  than  insensate  gold, 
Though  the  recorded  annals  of  old  time 
Tell  of  bright  guerdon  for  the  sounding  rhyme ; 
For  praises  are  the  poet's  best  rewards. 
No  gold  can  pay  him  for  the  golden  words, 


THE      AGE      OP      GOLD.  15 

Coined  in  his  fiery  heart  in  silence  deep, 
Alone  amid  a  weary  world  asleep. 
And  from  the  hour  when  strains  immortal  rung, 
Like   volumed   flame,    from    Miriam's   burning 

tongue, 
Triumphant  rode  the  pinions  of  the  breeze. 
And  mingled  madly  with  the  wailing  seas. 
Till  now  that  blushes  half  suff*use  her  face. 
When    misnamed    common-sense    usurps     her 

place,  — 
The  lofty  muse,  to  reason's  dictates  just. 
Sworn  to  the  truth,  and  faithful  to  her  trust, 
Secure  in  all  that  makes  even  weakness  bold. 
Too  proud  to  fear,  too  honest  to  be  sold, 
Has  piled  up  thunders  on  th'  eternal  page. 
To  blast  the  vices  of  a  sinking  age  ; 
But  chief  of  all,  that  meanest  vice  that  springs 
In  beggars'  bosoms  and  the  breasts  of  kings. 
Bows  the  whole  soul  before  a  brutal  clod. 
And  holds  the  slavish  idol  for  its  god ! 


16  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

So  pealed  the  song,  where  Scio's  crowning  isle 
Beams  like  a  gem  to  meet  the  -^gean  smile, 
Home  of  the  fiery-hearted  blind  old  bard. 
Shrine  of  his  deathless  glory  and  reward  ; 
So  swelled  it  still,  like  some  bold  anthem  tone 
Through  sounding  aisles   beneath  the  vaulted 

stone, 
'Mid  England's  rosy  bowers,  when  all  unveiled 
His  mental  eye,  whose  daring  vision  scaled 
Th'  empyreal  heights  and  gloomy  towers  of  hell. 
The  least  erected  spirit  saw  that  fell,  — 
Mammon  his  name,  who,  'mid  celestial  throngs. 
And   hosts  that  filled  all   Heaven  with  choral 

songs. 
Still  downward  bending  gazed,  admiring  more 
The  trodden  gold  of  Heaven's  eternal  floor. 

Thus  runs  the  world  away  ;  well  holy  Paul 
Root  of  all  evil  love  of  gold  might  call ! 
His  precept  just,  to  no  one  age  confined, 
The  grovelling  passion  marks  our  human  kind. 


THE      AGE      OF       GOLD.  17 

No  doubt  that  grasping  avarice  stalked  through 

blood 
To  heap  up  riches  long  before  the  flood ; 
Just  like  to-day,  though  manners  shift  the  scene, 
In  heart  the  same,  but  with  an  altered  mien. 
The  times  are  gone,  when  spurs  set  on  the  board 
Gave  the  rough  hint  to  drive  a  neighbor's  herd ; 
Borderers  no  more  their  knightly  swords  may 

draw. 
But  get  their  prudent  plunder  by  the  law. 
The  fashions  change,  but  doubts  may  well  arise 
If  men  have  grown  more  honest  or  more  wise, 
And  fears  may  come  for  his  access  of  grace 
Who  still  cheats  on,  but  with  a  solemn  face. 

Oh  blest  content !  source  of  eternal  health  ! 
Where  without  thee  were  all  the  poor  man's 

wealth ! 
When  worn  with  daily  toil  he  homeward  hies 
To  catch  his  welcome  from  love's  waiting  eyes, 


18  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Such  trusting  love  as  cheers   the  poor  man's 

home, 
While  doubt  and  hatred  mock  the  lordly  dome ; 
What  though  for  him  shine  no  pernicious  hoard, 
Nor  gilded  goblets  deck  his  sober  board, 
His  low-roofed  dwelling  pays  with  many  a  smile 
The  patient  suiferance  of  his  homely  toil. 
While  health  unbought  still  crowns  his  frugal 

cheer. 
Untroubled  slumbers  and  a  conscience  clear. 
Racked  by  no  fancied  ills,  more  hard  to  cure, 
Than  real  pangs  which  manhood  dares  endure, 
Unvext  by  cares  which  circle  either  Ind, 
Rest  on   the   treacherous   seas   and   court  the 

wind,  — 
He  far  beholds  ambition's  minions  hurled 
On  shifting  gales  across  a  troubled  world ; 
Secure  in  honest  comfort,  dearer  far 
Than  the  stained  spoils  of  fortune's  giddy  war; 
No  glittering  cheat  allures  his  soul  to  roam, 
His  pleasures  innocent,  his  heart  at  home, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  19 

On  time's  great  purpose  looks  with  steadfast  eye, 
Lives  for  life's  end,  and  oh,  prepares  to  die ! 

Hark,  from  the  tangled  wild-wood's  secret  shade, 
Where  scarce  the  lurking  savage  ever  strayed, 
Lo,  Nature's  old  primeval  silence  broke. 
While    forests    bend   beneath    the   woodman's 

stroke  ! 
With  manly  strength  the  ringing  steel  he  throws. 
And   sharp    tongued   echoes  speak    his   sturdy 

blows. 
Nor  stays  his  hand  till  wonted  mists  prevail, 
And  dewy  evening  flings  her  shadowy  veil  ; 
Then  glances  round  th'  unpeopled  solitude, 
The  breathless  forest  and  the  rolling  flood. 
And  seeks  his  log-built  hut,  whose  rugged  form 
Just   shields  the   blast   and   shelters   from   the 

storm ; 
Finds   home  still   there,   and  home's  unfailing 

smile 
Renerve  his  heart  and  brighten  all  his  toil. 


20  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Round  his  rude  dwelling  blooms  no  garden  fair, 
With  flowery  breath  to  scent  the  evening  air  ; 
Nor  here,  alas,  man's  nicer  art  has  been, 
But  sights  unsightly  mark  the  dismal  scene  ; 
Uprooted,  blackened  stumps,  in  grim  array, 
Like  shaggy  monsters  prowling  for  their  prey, 
Tower  o'er  the  bearded  grain's  luxuriant  spire. 
While  the  tall  pine-tree,    seared  with  scathing 

fire, 
Rears  its  gaunt  frame,  of  nature's  honors  spoiled, 
And  flings  its  ghastly  shadows  o'er  the  wild. 
Yet  nature  boon  here  spreads  her  liberal  store, 
And   sweet   contentment   brightens    round   his 

door  ; 
While  hardy  sports  still  cheat  the  lagging  day. 
And  string  his  sinewy  nerves  to  manlier  play. 
When  summer  suns  salute  the  golden  morn, 
And  wafted  sweets,  from  fragrant  pine-trees  borne, 
Load  all  the  balmy  air,  with  patient  aim 
He  tries  the  stream  or  strikes  the  flying  game ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  21 

And  oft  as  wintry  winds,  with  stormy  wail, 
Sweep  the  dead  leaves  that  fly  before  the  gale, 
O'er  the  rough  snow  and  through  the  ice-bound 

fen 
He  tracks  the  desert  monster  to  his  den  ; 
Meets  the  grim  panther  with  unblenching  eye, 
The  volleyed  death  that  instant  winged  to  fly, 
Unshaken  marks  where,  growling  in  his  lair, 
With  bristling  front  glares  forth  the  rugged  bear  r 
Or,  speaks  the  ringing  rifle,  sharp  and  clear, 
Fate  in  its  tone,  and  stays  the  flying  deer  ! 
Drags  home  his  prey  ;  and  while    with  gusty 

shout 
The  piping  winds  unheeded  blow  without. 
Crouched  o'er  the  blaze,  his  wondering  children 

near. 
Pours  his  lone  perils  in  no  careless  ear  ; 
His  trusty  friend,  well  tried,  once  more  would 

try, 
Down  its  brown  barrel  aims  his  curious  eye, 


22  THE      AGE      OP      GOLD. 

Marks  well  its  state  with  long  attention  deep, 
Then  flings  his  weary  length  to  welcome  sleep. 

Can  gold  disturb  his  rest  ?  oh,  who  shall  say- 
To-morrow's  sunshine  shall  be  like  to-day  ! 
Earth  hath  no  secret  place,  so  wild  and  rude, 
But  avarice  pierces  all  its  solitude. 
Lo,  winged  with  winds  the  vagrant  rumors  fly, 
And  glittering  showers  amaze  his  dazzled  eye ; 
Bonds,  notes,  a  fluttering  throng,  before  him  rise, 
His  rock-crowned  deserts  gleam  a  golden  prize, 
And  the  sweet  stream,  that  by  his  hovel  rolled, 
Shines  through  its  lucent  wave  with  sands  of 

gold! 
Till  now,  by  hopes  and  fears  confusedly  tost, 
He  takes  the  shining  bait,  and  all  is  lost ! 
Through  greedy  hands  transfused,  alembic  sure 
Substantial  good  with  real  ills  to  cure, 
His  house,  his  home,  his  heritage,  his  lands 
Melt  in  his  sight ;  —  a  naked  wretch  he  stands,  — 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  23 

Turns  stripped  and  beggared  from  his  own  loved 

door, 
And  seeks  a  world  that  smiles  not  on  the  poor  ! 

Thou  enviest  wealth,  perchance,  its  varied  store, 
Gems  rich  with  gold  and  heaps  of  glittering  ore, 
Forlorn  amidst  thy  meagre  comforts  pine, 
Breathe  the  vain  sigh  and  sadly  wish  it  thine  ? 
Thy  dream  of  all  that  riches  can  afford. 
The  sumptuous  dwelling  and  the  affluent  board. 
The  coach  obedient  when  its  master  stirs, 
Summer's  light  robes  and  winter's  costly  fius  ; 
Life's  social  plesisures  all  conspired  to  please. 
Day's  quiet  tenor,  night's  untroubled  ease ! 
Oh,  blind  to  all  the  pains  that  wait  on  wealth, 
Too  often  purchased  with  the  bosom's  health  ! 
Go,  mark  the  miser  grovelling  o'er  his  gold. 
Though  lord  of  forests  yet  is  pinched  with  cold  j 
Though  thousand  herds  are  on  his  pastures  fed. 
Alone  and  grudging  eats  his  bitter  bread ; 


24  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

The  school-boy's  moral,  marvel  of  the  wise, 
Jest  of  the  world  and  riddle  of  the  skies ! 
What  though  uncounted  realms  combine  to  pom- 
Heaps  piled  on  heaps  to  crowd  his  groaning  floor, 
Where  Afric's  dust  Peru's  red  ingots  meet. 
And  all  Arabia  sweetens  at  his  feet ; 
He,  wretched  creature,  lord  of  useless  power 
No  slave  would  purchase  with  his  tortured  hour, 
Poor  amidst  plenty,  fears  his  hoards  may  fail, 
And  dreads  at  last  the  work-house  or  the  jail ! 
Till  darker  fears  approach  ;  his  soul  takes  wing, 
He  dies,  alas,  this  envied,  guilty  thing. 
Whose  devious  steps  ten  thousand  by-ways  trod 
To  cheat  himself,  his  fellow-man  and  God  ; 
Life  wasted,  heaven  defied,  with  tedious  carf 
To  heap  up  riches  for  a  graceless  heir  ; 
And  speedy  wings  attest  the  well-tried  rule 
That  wealth  ill-got  is  squandered  by  a  fool ! 
At  best,  't  is  dearly  bought  with  half  the  pains 
That  mock  the  rich  man's  fairly  purchased  gains. 


THE      AGE      OF       GOLD.  25 

Fears,  doubts  and  cares,  an  anxious  throng,  that 

prest 
Close  round  his  bosom,  rob  his  soul  of  rest  ; 
Nor  peaceful  hours  can  bring  him  calm  content 
Whose  hope  is  slave  to  every  element ; 
Nature's  each  throe  to  him  some  direful  form, 
Earth,  ocean,  air,  the  lightning  and  the  storm  ; 
Or  worse,  the  broken  bank,  the  swindling  friend,. 
The  ruined  fortune,  and  the  self-sought  end. 

Oh,  better  far  the  lighter  ills  endure 
That  plague  with  daily  wants  the  toiling  poor  ; 
Or,  since  the  wisest,  scarcely  worldy-wise. 
Must  dig  the  mine  for  fools  to  snatch  the  prize, 
See  other  reapers  harvest  fields  they  sowed, 
And  find  their  solace  still  in  good  bestowed  ; 
Better  behold  with  philosophic  eye 
The  passing  pageant  of  the  world  go  by ; 
With  the  lone  student  dwell  in  realms  of  gold. 
Still  brightening  through  the  generous  dreams 
of  old, 


26  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Or,  with  the  poet,  let  thy  liberal  brain 
Build  airy  castles  far  away  in  Spain, 
Yet  keep,  if  God  ordain  such  happy  fate, 
The  honest  worth  that  crowns  the  middle  state  ,' 
Thy  mind  in  converse  frequent  with  the  sage, 
Thine  eye  oft  resting  on  the  sacred  page, 
Unpressed  by  want,  nor  yet  perplexed  with  cares 
For  hoards  that  tardy  mock  impatient  heirs  ; 
Those  better  riches  all  intent  to  win 
No  moth  corrupts,  nor  thieves  to  steal  break  in  ; 
Nor  anxious  for  to-morrow's  doubtful  care. 
Since  each  to-day  has  ills  enough  to  bear  ; 
Unblemished    keep    through   manhood's    sober 

stage. 
The  good  man's  hope  to  consummate  thine  age  ; 
Contented  let  thine  easy  moments  fly, 
Each  thought  a  wing  to  lift  thee  to  the  sky  ; 
Be  nothing,  if  thou  wilt,  the  worldling  loves, 
But  all  that  conscience  and  thy  God  approves. 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  27 

For   thee  shall    then  thy  neighbor's  diamonds 

shine, 
For  thee  his  flowers  their  radiant  hues  combine, 
For  thee  his  hills  arise,  his  valleys  bloom, 
His  foliage  spread,  his  gardens  waft  perfume ; 
All  nature's  treasures  thy  content  reward, 
No  pains  to  gain  them  and  no  care  to  guard. 

And  oh,  if  duty  claim  thy  busy  feet. 

And  toil  must  first  supply  the  means  to  eat, 

On  daily  labor  be  thine  eyelids  closed. 

Nor  man  dispute  the  lot  by  Heaven  imposed. 

The  first,  great,  common  lot  thy  race  must  bear, 

To  eat  the  bread  of  sorrow  won  with  care  ; 

Till,  tasks  and  trials  done,  his  faithful  Lord 

Calls  the  good  servant  to  his  sure  reward. 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD, 


i 


BOOK    II 


This  is  the  Age  of  Gold  !     In  quest  of  gain 
What  realms  remote  unsought  beyond  the  main  ! 
What  azure  wave  no  daring  keel  has  tossed, 
What   trackless  waste  no  venturous   band   has 

crossed, 
What  lonely  sea,  but  some  bold  crew  has  viewed 
Its  unknown  islands'  native  solitude ! 
We  blame  not  this,  for  manly  virtues  rise 
In  the  rough  school  of  generous  enterprise, 
4nd  hardier  men  the  better  wealth  diffuse 
Of  gallant  spirits  and  ennobled  views. 

Yet  when  the  passion  sways  with  strong  control, 
Stills  the  deep  voice  that  whispers  to  the  soul, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  29 

Kindles  the  common  mind  with  restless  fire, 
And  chains  the  spirit  to  one  base  desire  ; 
Burns  in  the  sunlight  of  the  forest  glade, 
And  pierces  even  Learning's  sacred  shade  ; 
Till,  led  by  this,  the  very  priest  unfrocks, 
And  gambling  placemen  speculate  in  stocks  ; 
When  stains  unseemly  mark  the  robes  of  state, 
(Thank  God  the  ermine  is  unspotted  yet  ;) 
When  ancient  names  to  ancient  virtue  dear. 
Find  little  reverence  if  they  'scape  a  sneer, 
And  words  once  sacred  halt  on  doubtful  breath, 
Truth,  Honor,  Innocence  and  hoary  Faith  ; 
When  all  has  venal  grown  that  can  be  sold. 
And  men  but  valued  at  their  weight  in  gold  ; 
When  glorious  thoughts  and  glorious  deeds  ex- 
pire. 
And  Genius  weeping  lights  her  funeral  fire  ; 
Then  Virtue  summons  all  her  white-robed  band, 
Remounts  the  skies  and  waves  her  parting  hand. 


30  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

This  is  the  Age  of  Gold  !  fain  would  we  deem 
Truth  harsh  as  this  but  fiction's  clouded  dream, 
And  Hope,  the  cherub,  still  stands  smiling  by. 
To  scan  th'  half-opened  scroll  with  doubtful  eye ; 
Yet  if  we  read  the  world's  broad  annals  true, 
Indignant  justice  strips  the  truth  to  view. 
Rends  the  light  veil  whose  tinsel  glories  shine, 
And  prompts  each  word  that  wings  th'  unerring 

line. 
If,  rolling  age  on  age,  (and  this  confessed,) 
The  love  of  lucre  sways  the  human  breast  ; 
The  days  have  been,  when  many  a  nobler  seed 
Sprang  there  to  flower,  and  choked  th'  unwhole- 
some weed  ; 
The  love  of  glory,  fired  by  generous  fame, 
Wreaths  won,  where  honor  led,  a  holy  name. 
High  thoughts  that  burned  through  manhood's 

fiery  trance. 
And  all  that  weaves  the  spell  of  young  Romance, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  31 

And  the  bright  memory  of  that  glorious  throng, 
Whose  lives  are  history  and  whose  words  are 
song. 

The  laurels  won  on  Cressy's  foughten  field, 
And  all  that  burns  on  England's  blazoned  shield. 
Of  every  household  word,  beloved  the  most, 
Their  fathers'  story  and  their  country's  boast,  — 
Say,  which  inspired  her  ocean  chivalry. 
To  speed  her  squadrons  to  the  land  of  Tea  ? 
Thoughts  that  to  brave  men's  bosoms  thronging 

come. 
Wife,  children,  lovers,  altars,  sacred  home,  — 
Which  led  their  sires,  beneath  the  Syrian  sun, 
To  plant  the  cross  on  leaguered  Ascalon ; 
Or  nerved  their  iron  hosts,  when  Cromwell's 

sword. 
Like  Gideon's,  fought  the  battles  of  the  Lord ; 
The  hero's  breath,  which  o'er  the  tide  of  war, 
ftose  from  the  gory  deck  of  Trafalgar,  — 


32  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

What  stirring  memory,  or  what  hallowed  name, 
Dear  to  the  annals  of  thy  future  fame, 
Swelled  from  their  hearts  and  glorified  the  scene, 
Oh,  proud  armada  of  the  island-queen  ! 
When  thy  wild  thunder  o'er  the  Indian  seas 
Shook  the  frail  bulwarks  of  the  dark  Chinese,  — 
And,  like  that  shout  which  mocked  the  voice 

divine, 
The  old  Ephesian's  for  his  silver  shrine, 
Thy  merchant-princes  swelled  the  echoing  cry, 
That  the  vile  drug  must  sell,  though  nations  die  ! 
No  more  be  styled  the  empress  of  the  main. 
Who  strike  not  now  for  glory  but  for  gain  ; 
Pour  o'er  the  feeble  land  the  poison  flood, 
And  drive  the  guilty  bargain  home  with  blood ; 
What  need  to  argue  with  a  barbarous  throng  ? 
The  weak  should  yield  submission  to  the  strong  ! 
'*  Might  conquers  Right,'' — she  peals  the  trumpet 

note. 
And  dictates  morals  from  the  cannon's  throat. ^ 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  33 

Go,  if  thy  heart  would  own  a  generous  flame, 
Where  ruin  revels  on  the  spoils  of  fame  ; 
View  the  majestic  piles  whose  fragments  lie 
On  every  shore  of  lovely  Italy  ; 
Or  where  her  subjugated  kingdoms  stood, 
And  awe-struck  waited  Rome's  imperial  nod. 
Reflect  what  golden  treasure's  vast  amount 
Reared  the  light  shaft  and  carved  the  chiselled 

fount, 
Upheaved  the  ponderous  arch,  the  pillared  dome, 
All  that  leads  pilgrim  nations  home  to  Rome,  — 
And  learn  whose  bounty  cheered  the  living  art, 
Which   makes  her   shrines  the   Meccas  of  the 

heart ! 
For  these  proud  wrecks  by  baffled   Time  un- 
spoiled. 
Yon    gathered    mass    where   vassaled    nations 

toiled. 
Each  softer  charm  that  o'er  thy  fancy  stole, 
And  grander  glories  fit  to  awe  the  soul, 

3 


34  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Where  twice  a  thousand  years  each  morn  has 

furled 
Night's   veil,   that   beauty   might   entrance  the 

world  ; 
For  these  proud  trophies  of  the  common  good 
Some  private  treasure  lavished  all  the  flood,^ 
Till  every  ivied  temple,  spared  by  time. 
And  even  their  country's  ruin  stands  sublime ! 

And  we,  so  boastful  of  our  country's  name. 
Proud  of  our  sires  and  jealous  for  their  fame, 
Talk  o'er  the  midnight  march,  the  wintry  flood. 
And  the  bright  fields  made  holy  by  their  blood  ; 
Muse  where  their  names  enrich   the  generous 

scroll, 
That  noblest  record  on  time's  living  roll. 
Yet  the  rank  grass  and  unplucked  wild-flower 


waves 


Where  evening's  tears  bedew  our  fathers'  graves 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  35 

And  thoUj  green  hill,  whose  fiery  chaplet  won 
Blooms  with  the   wreath  that   waves   for  Ma- 
rathon, — 
Long  in  its  mine  had  lain  the  unquarried  stone, 
While  the  world's  daily  petty  game  went  on, 
Till  glorious  Beauty,  mightier  still  than  gold. 
Round  man's  dull  heart  unclasped  the  obdurate 

fold. 
And  the  proud  shaft  salutes  the  rising  morn, 
To  tell  its  story  to  a  world  unborn  !  "^ 

Yet  glowing  hearts  there  are,  whose  generous 

aim 
Burns  through  the  earthly  dross  with  purer  flame, 
Instinct   with   thoughts  that  swell  the   nobler 

mind 
In  boundless  hope  to  compass  all  mankind  ; 
As  day  flings  living  sunshine  all  around. 
While    night's    unfolding    shades    enrich    the 

ground, 


36  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Their  life  in  blessings  to  the  world  is  given, 
Their  death  distils  them  like  the  dews  of  heaven. 
Such  his,  the  stranger  youth,  on  Luxor^s  plains,^ 
'Mid  hoary  relics  of  primeval  reigns, 
When  the  resistless  shaft  stood  winged  to  fly. 
With  holy  trust  he  glanced  his  fading  eye 
On  time's  triumphant  trophies  round  him  hurled, 
The  wreck-borne  spoils  of  a  forgotten  world. 
And   traced  with  failing  hand  those  words   of 

light 
Above  time's  empire  or  oblivion's  night ! 
Man's   mightiest,   proudest   works  around   him 

strown. 
Their  story  gone,  their  very  name  unknown. 
Not  even  the  memory  left  of  boastful  deeds. 
Earth-grasping    empire    and    world-conquering 

creeds ; 
The  wandering  savage  in  the  regal  domes, 
Where  earth's  resplendent  monarchs  had  their 

homes ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  37 

Dying  alone,  'mid  all  that  shakes  the  trust, 
Man's  fainting  spirit  builds  on  things  of  dust ; 
Yet  all  unshaken,  saw  with  glazing  eye 
The  beam  that  lit  his  own  far  western  sky  ; 
Heaped  on  his  country's  lap  his  liberal  gold, 
Pierced  the  dim  future's  veil  for  him  unrolled ; 
Saw  science  fostered  by  his  leading  hand. 
And  knowledge  brighten  round  his  native  land. 
And  o'er  the  murmurs  of  time's  sounding  sea 
Heard  thanks  from  untold  ages  yet  to  be. 

Such  praise  be  his ;  yet  far  above  the  great, 
And  nobly  good  whate'er  his  earthly  state, 
Who  sees  the  end  of  nature's  bounteous  plan, 
And  claims  the  native  brotherhood  of  man  ; 
Knows  life  itself  the  journey  of  a  day, 
A  pilgrim  he,  his  fellow  travellers  they, 
And  deems  himself  but  tenant  of  his  hoard, 
And   counts  on  reckoning  with   his  treasure's 
lord  : 


38  THE      AOE      OF      GOLD. 

Holds  every  grain  bestowed  a  boon  not  given, 
But  loaned  on  earth  to  be  restored  to  heaven ; 
When  pity  pleads  to  crime  itself  is  blind,  — 
The  undrawn  Cheerybles  of  human-kind,  — 
Pours  from  his  open  hand  the  sordid  dust, 
As  Heaven  its  rain  on  just  men  and  unjust  ; 
The  poor  man's  friend  !  who  marks  with  pitying 

eye 
The  squalid  huts  where  shivering  wretches  lie  ; 
Treads  the  dim  alley  and  the  foetid  haunt 
Where  abject  crowd  the  hungry  sons  of  want  ; 
Sees  pining  age  bow  down  its  palsied  head 
And  starving  children  cry  in  vain  for  bread  ; 
Feels  nature's  impulse  prompt  the  easy  art 
To  cheer  for  one  brief  hour  the  poor  man's  heart, 
Light  with  one  glimmering   ray  the  gloom  of 

years, 
Soothe  wo's  lone  heart-ache  and  pain's  weary 

tears,  — 
Each  groan  repressed  and  each  averted  sigh 
How  dear  to  earth,  and  oh,  how  blest  on  high ! 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  39 

These   are   life's   common   claims ;    but   when 

shall  start 
Thy  friends,  oh  Genius,  and  thy  patrons.  Art ! 
When  live  the  liberal  heart,  and  hands  that  glow 
To  heal  the  deeper  wounds  your  votaries  know ! 
Oftener  than  nurtured  on  the  lap  of  ease, 
Nursed  'mid  the  wants  that  starve,  the  blasts  that 

freeze. 
The  kindling  spirit  and  the  swelling  mind 
In  generous  compass  clasping  all  mankind ; 
Its  fiery  youth  too  often  spent  in  tears. 
Too  oft  in  darker  anguish  manhood's  years, 
Sufiering's   keen   pangs   and   all   the   sense    of 

wrong, 
That,  if  it  kills  not,  bursts  in  burning  song, 
In  living  stone  and  living  canvas  speaks. 
While  the  proud  heart  that  breathed  the  being 

breaks. 

Souls  such  as  these,  whose  memories  only  save 
Their  country's  annals  from  oblivion's  grave, 


40  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Their  path  through  desert  ages  all  the  trace 
Of  thoughts  and  deeds  that  dignified  their  race  ; 
Those  glorious  spirits,  whose  consummate  art 
Refined  the  dross  from  man's  degraded  heart, 
With  kindling  impulse  stirred  the  world's  deep 

soul, 
And  bade   Truth's  dawning  lustre    cheer   the 

whole ; 
Such  as,  oh  fatherland,  thy  wiser  mind 
Has  made  thy  bulwarks,  blessings  of  mankind, 
Sparkling  with  genius,  or  with  learning  sage, 
The  guiding  lights  that  glorify  their  age  ; 
Such  as  had  been,  were  elder  days  restored. 
Honored  at  Athens  and  by  Rome  adored ; 
Say,  oh  my  country,  shall  it  be  thy  shame 
In  lust  of  gold  to  lose  all  generous  flame  ; 
From  these,  thy  glory,  turn  the  cautious  eye. 
Neglected  let  them  live  and  starving  die  ? 
Vain  then  for  thee  were  all  the  bolder  fire 
That  leapt  in  living  flame  from  Homer's  lyre. 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  41 

And  through  the  night  of  ages  gleaming  still 
Held  the  wild  world  obedient  to  his  will ; 
Vain  Milton's  own  majestic  measure,  caught 
From    deeper    springs    than    Nature's    boldest 

thought ; 
Vain  David's  harp  with  chords  celestial  strung, 
Eajch  prophet  voice  and  each  immortal  tongue  ; 
Nature's  and  Heaven's  own  language,  vain  were 

all 
To  check  thy  ruin  or  lament  thy  fall ! 

True  on  my  country's  yet  unburdened  soil 
Life's  common  gifts  reward  the  hands  that  toil, 
Not  here  the  starving  poor  man's  curse  has  said 
His  honest  labor  cannot  buy  him  bread  ; 
Nor  yet  is  driven  to  know  that  dire  extreme, 
Want's    gloomy,    sullen,     hopeless,     desperate 

dream,  — 
That  brooding  dream,  whose  real  shapes  affright, 
(Too  sternly  true,  though  meant  for  life's  delight,) 


42  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

The  children,  jealous  round  the  scanty  food, 
The  wife  once  gentle  wrought  to  frenzy's  mood, 
The  revel  maddening  in  the  midnight  dome, 
The  cold  bare  hearth  that  desolates  his  home  ; 
All  that  has  killed  the  heart  or  made  it  feel 
Each  fiery  passion  hardening  into  steel  ; 
Till  the  stung  spirit  spurns  the  strong  control 
Reason  or  fiction  wind  about  the  soul, 
Breaks  the  weak  bonds  that  claimed  reluctant 

awe, 
Makes  nature's  dictate  paramount  to  law, 
Strikes  at  the  power  he  may  not  hope  to  win 
With  all  the  fruitless  feebleness  of  sin, 
Lights  the  wild  torch  and  fires  the  hoarded  grain. 
Sacks  the  proud  mansion,  robs  the  loaded  wain,  — 
Sinks   his  strong   spirit  formed,   perchance,    to 

climb. 
And  gives  the  soul  to  every  nameless  crime. 
Till  thought  of  him  and  such  as  he  will  come 
Unbid  on  pleasure's  hour  in  beauty's  home, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  43 

With  scowl  malignant  mock  his  social  lord, 
Infest  his  dreams  and  shake  him  at  his  board. 

Not  these  thy  terrors.     Long  may  Heaven  avert 
That  woes  and  wrongs  like  these  shall  work  thy 

hurt ! 
Nor  feared,  indeed,  where  equal  laws  divide 
The  wealth  that  pampers  long-descended  pride, 
The  careful  father's  treasure  heaped  in  vain 
His  progeny  must  equalize  again. 
Fixed  by  our  prudent  sires  a  firm  decree 
Against  that  bane  of  freedom.  Luxury. 
Yet  sceptics  doubt,  (where  will  not  doubt  in- 
trude?) 
If  wisdom  here  were  in  her  wiser  mood ! 
True,  no  proud  castles  frown  along  the  land, 
Nor  feudal  halls  dispense  the  wide  command  ; 
No  long-drawn  galleries,  graced  by  elder  art, 
Can  touch  the  fancy  and  refine  the  heart  ; 
No  generous  race  to  keep  alive  the  flame 
Of  lofty  honor  and  unspotted  name  ; 


I 


44  TH£      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

With  genial  charms  to  wreathe  the  muses'  bower, 
Give  learning  leisure  and  to  genius  power  ; 
No  softening,  cheering  and  ennobling  sway 
To  lure  the  wandering  soul  a  brighter  way, 
Kindle  the  fire  of  thought  grown  deathlike  cold, 
Make  being's  means  and  not  its  end  be  gold, 
O'er  many  a  bending  form  and  stolid  face 
Diffuse  the  light  of  mind,  the  charm  of  grace. 

Escaping  thus,  perchance,  a  servile  pride 
In  sires  not  always  found  on  virtue's  side, 
And  noble  lines,  ennobled  but  in  name. 
Too  high  for  justice  but  too  low  for  shame. 
Whose  long  hereditary  rolls  but  show 
Their  fathers  lived  a  thousand  years  ago,  — 
And  boasting  only  that  our  nobler  birth, 
Graced  by  no  fading  honors  of  the  earth, 
Disdained   those   baseless   forms   and   shadowy 

things, 
The  blood  of  princes  and  the  state  of  kings, 
Claimed  honest  kindred  only  with  the  good, 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  45 

And  fixed  above  the  skies  its  sure  abode  ! 

A  pilgrim  race  !  whose  fathers'  welcome  home, 

Was  but  the  starlit  heavens,  their  airy  dome  ; 

Their  tabernacle  in  the  savage  wood. 

Their  offspring  rocked  upon  the  wintry  flood ; 

Strangers  on  earth,  along  life's  desert  road, 

The  mind's  calm  eye,  still  looking  up  to  God, 

Saw  all  things  future  certain,  clear  and  plain. 

Things  present  doubtful,  indistinct  and  vain  ; 

Indifferent  they  of  empire's  rise  or  fall, 

But  God's  eternal  kingdom  all  in  all ! 

Say,  shall  their  sons,  degenerate  grown  and  base, 

Soil  the  immortal  trophies  of  their  race  ? 

And,  since  besetting  sins  that  live  caressed 

In  evil  hearts,  unchecked,  seduce  the  best. 

Hug  for  their  own  the  world's  most  worldly  vice, 

Its  chiefest,  basest,  meanest  Avarice  ! 

Shame  to  the  age  that  with  one  icy  flood 
Sweeps  all  that  old  corruption's  force  withstood ; 


46  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Hurls  virtue's  wrecks  along,  an  easy  prey, 
And  drowning  honor  in  its  gulf  away  ; 
Pours  with  its  sullen  surge  oblivious  streams 
O'er  holy  memories  and  ennobling  dreams  ; 
Makes  private  motive  but  a  sordid  lust. 
And  shameless  traffic  out  of  public  trust  ; 
Till  lofty  vice,  so  common  grown  and  bold, 
Scarce  here  and  there  one  piece  rings  sterling 

gold, 
While  foul  alloys  the  meaner  coins  debase, 
Uncurrent  else  their  prouder  brother's  face  ! 
And  now,  no  longer  thoughtful  to  maintain 
An  honest  name  that  will  not  brook  a  stain. 
Their  sons'  best  heritage  without  the  pelf, 
(A  grovelling  thing  when  followed  for  itself,) 
They  feel  no  claim  on  life's  diviner  soul 
Check  the  low  impulse  and  regain  control  ; 
See  all  around  them  fixed  with  every  sense 
On  the  same  servile  hunt  for  petty  pence  ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  47 

Leap   o'er   the  barriers  Heaven  and  man  have 

made, 
With  greedy  hunger  drive  the  sinful  trade, 
Direct  the  swindling  bank,  the  grasping  scheme, 
The  blown-up  bubble  and  the  gilded  dream ; 
And  public  virtue,  (but  another  name 
For  private  worth  exalted  into  fame,) 
Corrupted  apes  the  morals  of  the  day. 
And  but  ^'repudiates  "  when  it  ought  to  pay ; 
Fired  by  no  nobler  sense  whose  kindling  flame 
Rejects  dishonor  and  repudiates  shame  ! 

Well,  let  the  world  pursue  its  sordid  race. 
The  bubble  grasp,  the  flying  phantom  chase. 
Mix  in  the  narrow  crowd's  ignoble  strife. 
Destroy  life's  objects  for  the  sake  of  life,  ® 
Coin  hopes  more  precious  than  the  crimson  flood, 
And  traffic  hearts  for  unsubstantial  good. 
Turn  from  diviner  wisdom's  sweet  employ, 
Count  the  prophetic  muse  an  idle  toy. 


48  THE      AGE     OF      GOLD. 

Be  all  that  marks  on  time's  unerring  page 
The  feeble  manners  of  a  selfish  age  ! 
But  he,  whose  bosom  nobler  thoughts  inspire, 
Who  feels  the  promptings  of  etherial  fire, 
Say,  shall  he  mingle  with  the  hollow  crowd, 
The  vile,  the  vain,  the  sensual  and  the  proud. 
Trim   his   light   sails   to  catch  the   prosperous 

breeze, 
Sail  down  the  stream  and  tempt  the  dangerous 

seas? 
Or,  weakly  mourning  his  degenerate  race, 
Meet  grim  despair  with  unaverted  face, 
Fall,  like  the  dying  Roman,  and  exclaim, 
"  Virtue,  alas,  what  is  it  but  a  name  !  " 
No,  while  the  world's  broad  fields  commingled 

show 
Where  weeds  and  flowers   in   wild  confusion 

grow. 
Be  his  the  manlier  task,  with  dauntless  breast 
Still  toiling  nobly  there  to  pluck  the  best ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  49 

Prophetic  still  where  hidden  dangers  lie, 
Point  every  star  that  gilds  life's  stormy  sky, 
Trace  the  sweet  paths  where  life's  bright  roses 

bloom. 
Foretell  the  good  and  shun  Cassandra's  doom. 

And  brighter  days  will  come  ;  the  shifting  scene 
Shows   what  shall   be  from  all  that  once  has 

been  ; 
Man  changes,  empires  fall,  and  states  decay. 
Like  summer  clouds  the  nations  melt  away, 
Yet  through  the  gloom,  though  all  around  be 

dark, 
Unquenched  and  quenchless  burns  the  immortal 

spark  ; 
Still  throned  imperial  in  the  human  soul, 
And  still  resistless  to  exalt  the  whole, 
Now  through  the  midnight  flings  a  taper's  ray, 
Now  cheers  the  nations  with  the  blaze  of  day  ! 

4 


60  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

And  Nature  still  surrounds  us,  ever  true 
To  claim  the  soul's  responses  for  her  due  ; 
Where  the  broad  mountain  lifts  his  hoary  crown, 
Or  autumn  suns  the  waving  fields  imbrown  ; 
Where  with  one  moan  perpetual  ocean  swells. 
Or  moonlit  fountains  gush  in  fairy  dells  ; 
Where  heaven's  rejoicing  bridegroom  downward 

dips 
To  meet  the  kiss  of  twilight's  dewy  lips. 
And  the  dark  habitations  of  the  night 
Unveil  on  high  those  rolling  worlds  of  light  ; 
By  haunted  grove  and  every  valley  green 
Where  lilies  bloom  that  neither  toil  nor  spin,  — 
Some  secret  voice,  which  will  be  heard  alone, 
Speaks  the  soul's  language  and  reveals  its  own ! 

Man  changes ;  but  when  all  at  length  seem  lost. 
Revolving  states  confused  and  tempest-tost  ; 
When  fainting  faith  decays,  and  all  we  deem 
Of  truth  and  beauty  mocks  us  like  a  dream  ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  51 

When  vain  philosophy  breaks  nature's  gloom, 
But  plucks  no  flowers  immortal  from  the  tomb, 
And  wandering  science  every  star  has  trod, 
But  finds  no  heaven  and  scarcely  owns  a  God  ; 
And,  dead  to  mortal  hope  and  heavenly  trust, 
Man's  sordid  spirit  grovels  in  the  dust  ; 
Then,  —  as  the  shepherd  minstrel   struck   the 

lyre. 
Drew  down  celestial  music  to  the  wire, 
Swelled  the  clear  strain  and  breathed  the  mea- 
sured fall. 
And  drove  the  demon  from  the  soul  of  Saul,  — 
Then,  —  the  high  Muse  replumes  her  shining 
wings,io 

Moulds  to  fresh  concords  her  harmonious  strings, 
Strikes  the  bold  harp,  relinks  the  golden  chain 
That  binds  the  erring  heart  to  Heaven  again  ; 
The  spell  dissolves,  the  shadowy  clouds  unroll, 
And  Truth  immortal  lights  the  human  souL 


62  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Thus  runs  the  lay ;  and  now  the  lyre  is  broke  ; 
Fled  the  sweet  spell  that  all  its  impulse  woke  ; 
No  more  I  strive  to  string  the  shattered  chords, 
Or  fling  its  music  round  my  faltering  words  : 
Thou,  thou  art  dead !     In  vain,  in  vain  I  hear 
Hope's  whisper  chide  the  unavailing  tear  ; 
Alas,  what  voice  that  sorrow  shall  restrain 
Which  weeps  forever  since  it  weeps  in  vain ! 
Oh,  what  avails,  though  all  the  world  approve, 
The  verse,  that  only  flowed  to  meet  thy  love,  — 
Thy  love,    that    cheered   each   task   my  heart 

begun. 
And  well  rewarded  every  labor  done  ! 
The  living  spirit  and  the  soul  of  thought, 
Whose  heart  corrected  all  that  genius  taught ; 
Whose   generous    mind,    fresh   with   immortal 

youth. 
Each  thought  a  virtue  and  each  impulse  truth. 
With  every  goodness  every  charm  could  blend, 
Till  half  forgot  the  lover  in  the  friend  ; 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD.  63 

By  nature's  dowry  sweet  with  every  grace, 
Yet  found  content  in  life's  sequestered  place  ; 
The  guileless  path  of  simple  wisdom  trod. 
Whose  flowers  of  heaven  allure  the  way  to  God; 
In  modest  worth  shrunk   backward    from  the 

throng, 
And  lived  the  lowly  doctrine  of  my  song  ! 
From  thee  each  charm  my  inspiration  caught, 
Prompted  by  thee  the  lay  ;  and  I,  that  thought 
To  dedicate  it  to  thy  living  heart. 
Lay  it  upon  thy  bier !     Henceforth  apart 
Scarce  seem  the  portals  of  the  earth  and  sky, 
Since  such  as  thou  could  live  and  love  and  die. 


NOTES 


THE    AGE    OF    GOLD. 


Note  1.    Page  1. 

It  is  pleasantly  remarked  by  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Savage, 
that  "  He  did  not  forget,  in  mentioning  his  performances,  to 
mark  every  line  that  had  been  suggested  or  amended  ;  and  was 
so  accurate,  as  to  relate,  that  he  owed  three  words  in  The 
Wanderer  to  the  advice  of  his  friends." 

Without  pretending  to  emulate  this  extremelj'^  punctilious  cor- 
rectness, I  think  fit  to  observe,  that  it  is  possible  one  or  two  oc- 
casional and  unintentional  coincidences  of  expression  with  other 
writers  may  be  observed  in  the  foregoing  Poem.  For  one  who 
is  conversant  with  English  literature,  it  is  nearly  impossible, 
in  a  performance  of  such  length,  upon  an  abstract  subject,  to 
avoid  what  Cicero  calls  the  "  common-places  "  of  composition. 
Every  one  much  in  the  habit  of  writing  verse  must  have  ob- 


56  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD, 


served,  that  he  sometimes  found  himself  unable  to  determine 
whether  the  line  which  he  had  just  set  down,  perhaps  his 
favorite  one,  was  his  own  or  that  of  some  other  writer.  I  have 
myself  detected  only  one  flagrant  instance  of  this  kind ;  where 
a  line  of  a  great  poet  has,  quite  unconsciously  on  my  part,  in- 
sinuated itself  amongst  my  own  couplets.  As  the  line,  however, 
is  in  itself  valueless,  and  rendered  only  by  its  position  much  bet- 
ter adapted  to  my  purpose,  than  any  it  would  be  possible  to 
construct,  expressing  the  same  idea,  I  have  determined  (reluc- 
tantly) to  retain  it  in  my  possession,  until  some  sagacious  and 
industrious  critic  shall  identify  and  insist  upon  restoring  it  to  its 
rightful  owner. 

Note  2.     Page  10. 

"  Those  winged  words  that  sounding  reach  the  wise, 
Be  these  her  arrowy  shafts,  —  " 

Find.  Olymp.  B.  83  — 86. 

Note  3.     Page  11. 

"  Men  slowly  gained  hut  kept  their  innocence.''* 

He  that  maketh  haste  to  be  rich  shall  not  be  innocent. 

Proterbs,  XVIII.  20. 

Note  4.    Page  16. 


Well  holy  Paul 


Root  of  all  evil  love  of  gold  might  call'* 

I.  Tim.  VI.  10. 


NOTES.  57 

Note  5.    Page  32. 

**  And  dictates  morals  from  the  cannon's  throat." 

While  sending  this  volume  to  the  press,  I  extract  from 
a  London  Paper  the  following  account  of  the  taking  of  the 
Chinese  City  of  Tsekee ; 

"  A  Chinese  force  of  from  8000  to  10,000  men  were  strongly 
posted  upon  some  hills  commanded  hy  Generals  T wan- Yung, 
Yang,  and  Choo.  Arrangements  were  made  for  an  attack  in 
three  columns,  two  of  which  were  led  by  Sir  H.  Gough,  and 
Sir  W.  Parker,  in  person.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  bravery 
of  the  troops.  They  contrived  to  surround  the  Chinese,  and 
quite  bewildered  them.  The  carnage  was  dreadful,  being 
more  a  butchery  than  a  battle.  Ignorant  of  the  laws  of 
civilized  warfare,  the  poor  creatures  knew  not  how  to  sur- 
render, and  were  massacred.  Not  less  than  a  thousand  of 
them,  including  a  great  number  of  Mandarins,  were  killed,  or 
drowned  in  the  canals ;  whereas  of  the  British  troops  only  three 
were  killed  and  twenty-two  wounded." 

It  is  presumed  that  there  are  few  persons  in  England  or  else- 
where, whose  reason  is  not  perverted  by  prejudice  or  interest, 
who  do  not  regard  Great  Britain  as  the  aggressor  in  this  contest ; 
not  merely  in  consideration  of  the  rule  of  morals,  but  upon  every 
settled  principle  of  domestic  and  international  law.  It  is  possible 
that  the  Chinese  may  have  exhibited  some  degree  of  bad  faith 
upon  incidental  questions ;  but  as  to  their  clear  right  to  regulate 
their  home  policy  or  foreign  traffic  according  to  their  own  notions 
of  moral  obligation,  who  can  doubt  ?  It  is  well  known  to  those 
who  have  examined  the  subject,  that  the  "  foreign  barbarians  " 


THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 


had  full  warning,  that  the  trade  in  opium  would  no  longer  be  per- 
mitted, as  well  as  ample  opportunity  and  repeated  notice  to  with- 
draw the  prohibited  article  from  the  Emperor's  dominions.  What 
was  made  forfeit,  therefore,  became  subject  to  this  liability,  in 
consequence  of  wilful  resistance  to  the  ordinance  of  the  govern- 
ment ;  and  the  circumstance  affords  no  plausible  pretext  for  the 
commencement  of  hostilities.  The  exclusion  of  the  drug  too 
was  uniformly  placed  upon  moral  grounds ;  and  where  the 
moralists  and  philanthropists  of  England  have  been  at  this  crisis 
it  would  be  curious  to  inquire.  As  it  is,  it  has  been  a  conflict 
of  the  most  powerful  against  the  most  imbecile  nation,  singularly 
protracted,  in  consequence,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  amongst  other 
things,  of  some  occasional  relentings  of  conscience,  conviction  of 
wrong,  and  the  absence  of  those  motives  and  influences  which 
usually  constitute  the  attractions  of  war. 

Christianity  has  been  supposed  to  exhibit  not  its  least  amiable 
characteristic,  in  moderating  the  unavoidable  horrors  of  warfare 
But  there  is  a  sort  of  cold-blooded  exultation,  over  things  neither 
honorable  nor  humane,  in  the  passage  above  quoted,  surprising  to 
witness  in  an  age  of  professions  like  our  own. 

As  an  offset  to  this  wanton  massacre  of  the  defenceless,  thus 
coolly  narrated,  I  quote  the  language  said,  by  an  ancient  poet,  to 
have  been  used  by  Pyrrhus,  King  of  Epirus,  in  answer  to  Fa- 
bricius,  the  Roman  Consul,  who  requested  the  release  of  certain 
captives  upon  ransom ;  with  the  comment  of  Cicero,  that  it  was 
—  "  regalis  sane  et  digna  ^Eacidarum  genere  sententia:  " 

Nee  mi  auram  posco,  nee  ml  pretium  dederitus  j 
Nee  cauponantes  bcllum,  sed  bclligerantesj 
Ferro,  non  auro,  vitam  eernamus  utriquo, 


NOTES.  69 


Vosne  velit,  an  me  regnare  Hera ;  quidve  ferat  sors 
Virtute  experiamar,  et  hoc  simul  accipe  dictum  j 
duorura  virtutei  belli  Fortuna  pepercit, 
Horumdem  me  libertatei  parceie  certum  est ; 
Dono  ducite,  doque  volentibus  cum  magneis  Dis. 

Of  which  the  following  translation  is  ventured  ; 

1  ask  no  gold, — to  me  no  price  be  paid, 

The  war  we  wage  is  war,  not  huckstering  trade  ; 

With  steel  not  gold  the  mortal  cast  we  try, 

Whom  Fate  decrees  to  reign,  or  you  or  I. 

What  future  chance  shall  be,  let  manhood  test  j 

And  more, —  1  utter  this  supreme  behest,  — 

These  valiant  men,  whom  Fortune  spared,  are  free  j 

Be  sure  I  grant  them  unbought  liberty  j 

I  give  them  freedom,  —  hence  your  comrades  lead,  — 

And  the  great  Gods  shall  well  approve  my  deed. 

Note  6.    Page  34. 

"  Some  private  treasure  lavished  all  the  flood.** 
**  The  majestic  ruins,  that  are  still  scattered  over  Italy  and  the 
provinces,  would  be  sufficient  to  prove,  that  those  countries  were 
once  the  seat  of  a  polite  and  powerful  empire.  Their  greatness, 
alone,  or  their  beauty,  might  deserve  our  attention ;  but  they 
are  rendered  more  interesting  by  two  important  circumstances, 
which  connect  the  agreeable  history  of  the  arts  with  the  more 
useful  history  of  human  manners.  Many  of  those  works  were 
erected  at  private  expense  and  almost  all  were  intended  jor 
public  benefit. 

Gibbon.  Decline  and  Fall.  chap.  ii.  p.  54. 


60  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 

Note  7.     Page  35. 

««  To  tell  its  story  to  a  world  unborn.** 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  funds  necessary  to  complete  the 
monument,  now  finished,  upon  Bunker-hill,  were  eventually 
procured  by  means  of  a  "  Ladies-Fair." 


Note  8.    Page  36. 

**  Such  hiSf  the  stranger  youth  on  Luxor* s  plains.  ** 

Mr.  John  Lowell,  Jr.,  of  Boston,  whose  bequest  of  $250,000 
established  the  Institute  in  that  city,  and  which  bears  his  name. 
The  codicil  to  his  will  is  dated  at  Luxor,  near  Thebes.  He  died 
in  1836,  aged  37.  It  is  not  perhaps  very  unusual  for  men, 
who  have  spent  their  lives  in  the  acquisition  of  wealth  and 
amidst  all  those  motives  and  influences,  which  prompt  us  to  be 
liberal,  on  our  death-beds,  of  those  things  for  which  we  have  no 
further  occasion,  at  last  to 

"  Die  and  endow  a  college  or  a  cat !  *' 

But  there  is  something  more  than  commonly  sublime  in  the 
spectacle  of  a  young  person,  dying  in  **  a  far  country,"  sur- 
rounded only  by  the  relics  of  past  and  forgotten  institutions  ; 
yet  aiming,  with  a  generous  and  hopeful  confidence  to  establish 
the  future  intellectual  and  moral  cultivation  of  his  native  land. 


NOTES.  61 

Note.  9.     Page  47. 

"  Destroy  life's  objects  for  the  sake  of  life^'* 

Et  propter  vitam  vivendi  perdere  causas. 

Juv. 

The  inordinate  thirst  of  wealth, —  "the  love  of  money," — 
the  forgetfulness  of  life's  objects  and  ends,  —  must  be  always 
suitable  and  useful  themes  for  the  satirist  and  the  moral  historian 
of  his  times ;  for  these  are  causes  which  corrupt  and  event- 
ually destroy  society.  On  the  other  hand,  the  reasonable  and 
moderate  pursuit  of  wealth,  as  a  source  of  enlightened  enjoy- 
ment, by  just  means,  combined  with  a  true  sense  of  its  proper 
employment  and  distribution,  so  far  from  being  prejudical,  is  both 
useful  and  necessary.  Without  this,  society  would  stagnate  and 
life  end.     It  is  said  by  a  great  authority  ;  — 

"  God  first  assigned  Adam  maintenance  of  life,  and  then  ap- 
pointed him  a  law  to  observe.  True  it  is  that  the  kingdom  of 
God  must  be  the  first  thing  in  our  purposes  and  desires ;  but  in- 
asmuch as  a  righteous  life  presupposeth  life,  inasmuch  as  \o 
live  virtuously  it  is  impossible,  except  we  live ;  therefore,  the 
first  impediment  which  naturally  we  endeavor  to  remove  is 
penury  and  want  of  things  without  which  we  cannot  live." 

Hooker.  Eccl.  Pol.  Book  1.  Sect.  9. 

There  is,  however,  some  apparent  fallacy,  if  it  be  not  pre- 
sumption to  say  so,  in  the  argument  of  the  "  judicious  "  Hooker, 
upon  this  subject ;  because,  in  point  of  fact,  the  means  of  life  and 
virtuous  living  are  really  conjoint,  commence  at  the  same  moment 
and  proceed  in  the  same  tenor. 


62  THE      AGE      OF      GOLD. 


Neither  must  it  be  forgotten,  that  the  pursuits  of  business,  in 
themselves  temporary  and  ending  with  life,  can  be  intended  only 
for  the  employment  of  the  otherwise  idle  faculties,  and  to  give 
opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  the  moral  attributes  of  human 
nature.  In  any  other  view,  such  pursuits  would  seem  absurd. 
To  waste  health  and  comfort,  to  pervert  the  moral  being,  to 
lose  life  itself,  in  the  mere  pursuit  of  things,  which  in  them- 
selves afford  no  pleasure,  and  which  must  absolutely  cease  with 
present  existence  —  this  would  seem  to  be  the  highest  reach  of 
human  infatuation ! 


Note  10.     Page  51. 

"  Then  the  high  Muse  replumes  her  shining  wings.** 
Meaning  the  Muse  in  the  more  enlarged  and  comprehensive 
sense  of  the   term,   as  including   whatever  influence   tends   to 
exalt  the  immortal  over  the  material  part  of  human  nature. 


LYRICAL 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


65 


A   DREAM.  1 


Ecce  Somniator  venit !    Vulgate. 


'T  WAS  midnight's  deep  profound ; 

High  rode  the  cloudless  moon  ; 
The  stars  upon  their  round 

Glowed  through  night's  solemn  noon. 

Their  shadowy  pinions  furled, 

No  winds  their  vigils  kept, 
And  wrapt  in  dreams  the  world 

Hushed  its  wild  heart  and  slept. 


66  A      D  R  E  A  M  . 

No  breath  upon  the  sea, 

No  murmur  in  the  sky, 
But  cold  and  silently 

The  wintry  night  swept  by. 

Within  a  pillared  dome, 

Such  as  in  ages  old, 
Where  the  sires  of  mighty  Rome 

The  world's  great  hopes  controlled  ;  - 

There  met  in  grand  debate. 
With  brows  composed  and  high, 

A  nation's  sages  sate. 

Deep  thought  in  every  eye. 

Fit  themes  of  high  resolve 
An  empire's  soul  to  wake 

Through  their  lofty  minds  revolve, 
From  their  lips  heroic  break  j 


A      D  R  E  A  M  .  67 

All  the  statesman's  bold  control^ 

All  the  patriot's  high  desire^. 
All  the  hero's  fervent  soul, 

All  the  bard's  ecstatic  fire  ; 

All  that  through  a  sounding  world 

Bears  a  people's  memory  on, 
Tears  the  veil  oblivion  furled, 

Pleads  anew  for  glories  gone  t 

There  was  audience  grave  and  still 
Reigned  that  lofty  band  among, 

As  each  master-spirit's  will 

Led  in  triumph  all  the  throng  • 

And  every  pause  between 

Rose  a  murmur  as  of  waves. 
Where  the  meadow's  quiet  green 

Some  silvery  ripple  laves. 


A      DREAM. 

There  was  manhood's  thoughtful  brow, 
The  impassioned  soul  of  youth. 

Age's  locks  of  reverend  snow 
And  its  calm  and  trusted  truth. 

Those,  whose  wise  conducting  hand 
Kept  the  sullen  crowd  in  awe, 

When  faction's  swelling  band 
Broke  the  bonds  of  sacred  law. 

Men,  whose  eyes  of  eagle  light 
Told  of  many  a  conflict  won ; 

Rallied  oft  the  sinking  fight, 
Led  the  stormy  battle  on. 

There  the  sage,  to  whom  was  given  2 
More  than  Nature's  sovereign  sway,  — 

Brought  the  lightning  down  from  heaven, 
Tore  the  tyrant's  rod  away  ;  — 


A      D  R  E  A  M  *  69 

And  he,  whose  fervid  call 

Through  a  nation's  heart  could  thrill, 
^^Live  or  die,"  who  staked  his  all 

On  his  country's  altars  still ;  — 

And  he,  whose  story  told 

Fills  anew  each  moistened  eye, 

Whom  a  kingdom's  treasured  gold 
Was  not  rich  enough  to  buy  ;  — 

And  many  a  one,  whose  name 
Was  a  loved  and  household  word, 

Made  a  people's  breath  its  fame, 

Foimd  a  nation's  truth  its  guard ;  — 

And  towering  o'er  them  all, 

Like  the  patriarch's  mightier  sheaf, 

'Mid  his  peers  that  thronged  the  hall 
Majestic  stood  the  chief  !  ^ 


70>  A      DREAM. 

From  his  brow  and  eye  sublime 
Shone  the  look  of  high  command, 

Like  the  gods  of  ancient  time 
In  the  old  heroic  land. 

Yet  their  proudest  powers  above 
Were  his  glory  and  his  crown,  — 

All  a  people's  reverent  love 

All  a  world's  applause  his  own  ! 


'T  Avas  the  noblest  of  the  earth 
Thus  in  solemn  conclave  met. 

To  record  a  nation's  birth 

And  to  mould  the  mighty  state. 

Thoughts  beyond  my  mind's  control 
To  my  lips  in  accents  sprung, 

^^  Here  is  more  than  Wolfe's  great  soul,  - 
Here  is  Chatham's  mother  tongue  !  "  ^ 


A      D  RE  AM  .  71 

When  a  mingled  cry  there  fell, 
That  my  startled  senses  woke,  — 

Fled  the  vision  and  the  spell, 
And  the  wizard  dream  was  broke. 

'T  was  like  surges  on  the  shore, 
When  the  winds  above  them  sweep. 

As  they  pour  their  sullen  roar, 

As  they  dash  with  headlong  leap !  — 

Still  within  the  pillared  hall,  — 
Where  the  spirits  high  and  bold  ! 

Where  the  chief  among  them  all,  — 
And  the  mighty  men  of  old  ! 

'Mid  a  Babel  of  mad  sound, 

Confusion  worse  confused, 
Stood  the  living  presence  round 

That  my  living  sense  abused. 


79t  A      D  R  E  ▲  M  • 

Gone  the  patriot's  holy  fire, 

Gone  the  statesman's  purpose  sage, 

Youth's  pure  and  high  desire 
And  the  reverence  fit  for  age  ! 

Self  ruled  the  maddened  hour, 
And  suspicion  scowled  beside, 

Stole  away  the  patriot's  power, 
Quelled  the  throe  of  manly  pride. 

All  forgot  their  fathers'  blood, 

Honor's  prize  and  glory's  gleam,  — 

I  scorned  the  brawling  brood. 
And  longed  once  more  to  dream. 


73 


THE    BALLAD    OF    LUTZEN.    1632.5 


On  Lutzen's  morn,  ere  heaven's  red  flame  the 

drooping  clouds  had  kissed, 
Or  break  of  day  had  rolled  away  the  morning's 

heaving  mist, 
The  word  was  passed  along  the  line,  and  all  our 

men  arrayed 
Stood  front  and  rear,  each  musketeer,  in  silence 

and  in  shade. 


74 


THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN. 


No  trumpet  swelled  its  rallying  blast,  no  clarion's 
pealing  breath, 

No  beaten  drum  proclaimed  ^^  they  come,"  across 
the  field  of  death  ; 

But  shrouded  in  the  wreathing  mist,  with  stead- 
fast tread  and  slow, 

With  hearts  prepared  and  weapons  bared,  we 
marched  upon  the  foe. 


^'  Halt,  halt !  "  the  cry  rang  through  the  host, 

"  their  ranks  are  all  in  view, 
Yon  murky  sun,  that  rose  so  dun,  the  mantling 

grey  breaks  through ; 
Let  fools  down  battle's  gory  paths  rush  headlong 

on  to  death. 
We  own  the  Power  that  rules  the  hour,  the 

Lord  of  life  and  breath !  " 


h 


THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN.  75 

And  full  before  the  leaguers'  host  we  seek  on 
bended  knee. 

With  lifted  face  His  sovereign  grace,  whose 
word  is  fate's  decree  ; 

To  Him  uprose  in  chorus  deep  each  squadron's 
lofty  psalm, 

And  swelled  in  air  our  heartfelt  prayer  on  Na- 
ture's breathless  calm. 


The  king  was  there,  —  with  burning  hope  his 

manly  visage  glowed, 
As  oft  before,  at  battle's  hour,  along  our  front 

he  rode  ; 
^^  Now,  soldiers,  now,"  and  answered  well  each 

heart  the  kingly  tone, 
"  For  holy  faith,  for  life  or  death, — Lord  Jesus, 

aid  thine  own  !  " 


76  THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN. 

Impetuous  rolled  the  pealing  drum,  wild  rang 

the  trumpet  swell, 
All  round  the  sky  our  battle  cry  in  thundering 

echoes  fell, 
"God  and  the  cause,"  —  ^'on,  comrades,  on! 

we  own  no  papal  sway,  — 
What  servile  band  shall  dare  to  stand  before  our 

charge  to-day ! " 


And  many  a  plumed  head  rose  high,  and  ban- 
ners bright  unrolled. 

And  pennons  stream  and  sabres  gleam  beneath 
the  sun  like  gold  ; 

Across  the  sounding  plain  our  horse  with  stamp- 
ing hoofs  they  go,  — 

See  where  they  broke  through  flame  and  smoke 
like  lightning  on  the  foe  ! 


THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN.  77 

We  care  not  for  their  trenches,  leap  light  their 
bulwarks  o'er. 

Each  bayonet  is  gleaming  wet,  red  with  impe- 
rial gore,  — 

Sheer  through  their  columns  crashing  goes  our 
cannons'  hurtling  levin. 

Like  chaff  they  fly,  when  bursts  on  high  the 
whirlwind  blast  of  heaven ! 


Vain,  vain  their  Flemish  infantry,  their  Croats' 

thirsty  spears,  — 
In  vain,  in  vain  led  Wallenstein  his  steel-clad 

cuirassiers,  — 
We   Swedes  count  life  but  little  worth  in  the 

battle's  stormy  hour, 
As  meets  the  rock  the  tempest-shock  we  met 

the  fiery  shower. 


76  THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN. 

Nor  quailed  our  Northern  bosoms,  nor  shook  our 

iron  rank, 
When  Pappenheim  with  spur   of  flame   came 

thundering  on  our  flank  ; 
Firm  stood  our  Scottish  legions,  stout  Weimar's 

columns  stood. 
And  gave  like  men  their  blows  again,  and  paid 

them  blood  for  blood. 


Remember  Magdeburg's  foul  sack  and  Isolani's 

sword, 
Their  fierce  dragoons  and  wild  Walloons,  and 

Tilly's  cruel  word  ;  ^ 
Remember  Leipsic's  gory  field,  and  our  battle's 

gloomy  swell. 
When  their  blood  like  rain  dashed  o'er  the  plain, 

paid  the  crimson  reckoning  well ! 


THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN.  79 

Once  more,  once  more,  —  the  king  the  first,  — 

he  ever  leads  the  way,  — 
On  every  mane  flies  loose  the  rein,  — what  slave 

behind  would  stay ! 
Heavens !    how   we   bore    them    through   and 

through,  while  wildly  o'er  the  slain 
With  headlong  speed  the  unmastered  steed  swept 

through  the  dinted  plain  ! 


And  many  a  stark  old  warrior,  and  youths  with 

locks  of  gold, 
As  they  reel  before  our  steel,  to  the  dust  alike 

are  rolled  ; 
Rough  greeting  theirs,  I  trow,  who  chance  that 

trampling  troop  to  meet,  — 
Where  it  dashes,  how  like  ashes  they  are  trod 

beneath  our  feet ! 


80  THE     BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN. 

Now  joy  to  Luther's  churches  through  the  bor- 
ders of  Almain ! 

It  is  the  Lord,  whose  vengeful  sword  has  cleft 
the  tyrant's  chain ! 

Let  Rome  upon  her  sevenfold  hills  bewail  her 
children's  trust, 

Forever  broke  her  bloody  yoke,  and  her  idols 
bite  the  dust. 


But  where   is   he,  Gustavus,    the  Lion  of  the 

North ! 
The  best  and   aye   the   bravest,   from  battle's 

cloud  came  forth ! 
Dead,  —  dead,  —  beneath  the  clanging  hoof,  the 

bulwark  of  our  faith,  — 
Oh,  dear  will  be  the  victory,  that 's  bought  with 

such  a  death ! 


THE      BALLAD      OF      LUTZEN.  81 

One   true   young   bosom  only  there  of  all  his 

gallant  ring, — 
Oh,  human  pride  !  ^^alas,"  he  cried,  'Hhis  morn 

I  was  a  king  !  " 
So   passed   the   noblest   heart   away  that   beat 

beneath  the  sun,  — 
Thus  went  the  fray  on  Lutzen's  day,  and  thus 

the  field  was  won. 


82 


DEPARTURE    OF    THE    FRIGATE. 


Her  pennant  at  the  mainmast  head. 

Her  ensign  on  the  flowing  breeze, 
Her  snowy  sails  like  pinions  spread 

To  waft  her  o'er  the  rolling  seas  ; 
And  gently  bending  to  the  tide, 

That  folds  her  in  its  swift  embrace, 
And  smiles  around  her,  as  a  bride 

Smiles  welcomes  in  her  lover's  face, 


DEPARTURE   OF  THE  FRIGATE.   83 

In  gallant  trim,  as  staunch  and  true 

As  ever  dared  the  seaman's  grave, 
She  bears  her  bold  and  hardy  crew 

In  triumph  o'er  the  ocean  wave : 
So,  like  a  thing  of  life  and  light, 

That  fades  along  the  sleeper's  brain. 
She  bounds  across  the  tranced  sight 

To  seek  the  broad  and  gloomy  main ! 


And  hark,  what  warlike  strains  awake, 

'Mid  volumed  smoke  and  fiery  gleam^ 
And  peals  whose  ringing  echoes  break 

The  busy  city's  worldly  dream ! 
The  gay  salute,  the  jovial  cheer. 

The  stern  command,  the  prompt  reply,  — 
What  joy,  to  share  her  swift  career. 

Or  on  her  blood-stained  decks  to  die ! 


84     DEPARTURE      OF      THE      FRIGATE. 

And  oh,  what  thoughts  across  the  deep, 

Commend  her  to  the  favoring  airs ! 
What  freighted  hopes  her  bulwarks  keep, 

What  treasures  of  uncounted  prayers ! 
From  mount  and  valley  far  away, 

By  sweet  green  field  and  flowery  lea,  - 
While  she,  amid  the  tossing  spray. 

Careers  along  the  heaving  sea. 


And  dearer  still,  her  country's  fame 

Is  with  her  on  the  mountain  wave. 
And  honor's  bright  and  holy  name 

To  nerve  the  weak  and  cheer  the  brave  ; 
That  stainless  flag,  whose  starry  fold 

Still  pierced  the  lurid  battle  through. 
And  o'er  the  tide  of  war  unrolled 

On  every  sea  triumphant  flew ! 


DEPARTURE      OF      THE      FRIGATE.      85 

And  fair  and  happy  be  her  way, 

O'er  ocean's  broad  unfathomed  bed. 
And  prosperous  all  the  winds  that  play 

Where'er  her  swelling  sails  are  spread ! 
God  save  her  from  the  deadly  rock. 

And  cliffs  that  crown  the  wild  lee-shore, 
God  keep  her  in  the  tempest  shock. 

And  bring  her  home  once  more ! 


86 


BLOODY    BROOK.  7 


By  Bloody  Brook,  at  break  of  day, 

When  glanced  the  mom  on  scene  more  fair  ! 
Rich  pearl-dew  on  the  greensward  lay. 

And  many  a  sweet  flower  flourished  there  : 
The  holy  forest  all  around 

Was  hush  as  summer's  sabbath  noon, 
And  through  its  arches  breathed  no  sound 

But  Bloody  Brook's  low  bubbling  tune. 


BLOODY      BROOK.  ST 

And  bright  with  every  gallant  hue 

The  old  trees  stretch  their  leafy  arms, 
While  o'er  them  all  the  morning  threw 

A  tenderer  glow  of  blushing  charms  ; 
And  varying  gold  and  softest  green. 

And  crimson  like  the  summer  rose, 
And  deeper,  through  the  foliage  screen, 

The  mellow  purple  lives  and  glows. 


By  night,  alas,  that  fearful  night ! 

How  sinks  my  heart  the  tale  to  tell ! 
All,  all  was  gone  that  morning  light 

Saw  blooming  there  so  passing  well ; 
Those  clustered  flowers,  o'er  all  their  pride 

A  thousand  furious  steps  had  trod. 
And  many  a  brave  heart's  ebbing  tide 

For  pearly  dew-drops  stained  the  sod ! 


89^  BLOODY      BROOK. 

But  hark !  that  sound  you  scarce  may  hear 

Amidst  the  dry  leaves  scattered  there,  — 
Is  it  the  wild  wolfs  step  of  fear, 

Or  fell  snake  stealing  to  his  lair  ? 
Ah  me,  it  is  the  wild  wolfs  heart. 

With  more  than  wolfish  vengeance  warm, 
Ah  me,  it  is  the  serpent's  art 

Incarnate  in  the  human  form  ! 


And  now  't  is  still !  No  sound  to  wake 

The  primal  forests'  awful  shade  ,• 
And  breathless  lies  the  covert  brake, 

Where  many  an  ambushed  form  is  laid 
I  see  the  red-man's  gleaming  eye,  — 

Yet  all  so  hushed  the  gloom  profound, 
The  summer  birds  flit  careless  by, 

And  mocking  nature  smiles  around. 


BLOODY      BROOK.  89 

Yet  hark  again !    A  merry  note 

Comes  pealing  up  the  quiet  stream. 
And  nearer  still  the  echoes  float,  — 

The  rolling  drum,  —  the  fife's  loud  scream  ! 
Yet  careless  was  their  march  the  while, 

They  deem  no  danger  hovering  near. 
And  oft  the  weary  way  beguile 

With  sportive  laugh  and  friendly  jeer. 


Pride  of  their  wild  romantic  land, 

In  the  first  flush  of  manhood's  day, 
It  was  a  bright  and  gallant  band. 

Which  trod  that  morn  the  venturous  way. 
Long  was  the  toilsome  march,  —  and  now 

They  pause  along  the  sheltered  tide. 
And  pluck  from  many  a  clustered  bough 

The  wild-fruits  by  the  pathway  side. 


90  BLOODY      BROOK. 

As  gay — Alas,  that  direful  yell! 

So  loud,  —  SO  wild,  — so  shrill,  —  so  clear,  — 
As  if  the  very  fiends  of  hell 

Burst  from  the  wildwood  depths  were  here ! 
The  flame,  — the  shot,  —  the  deadly  gasp,  — 

The    shout,  —  the    shriek,  —  the    panting 
breath,  — 
The  struggle  of  that  fearful  clasp. 

When  man  meets  man  for  life  or  death,  — 


All,  all  were  here  !    No  manlier  forms 

Than   theirs,  —  the   young,    the   brave,   the 
fair,  — 
No  bolder  hearts  life's  current  warms 

Than  those  that  poured  it  nobly  there  ! 
In  the  dim  forests'  deep  recess, 

From  hope,  from  friends,  from  succour  far, 
Fresh  from  home's  smile  and  dear  caress, 

They  stood  to  dare  the  unequal  war  ! 


BLOODY      BROOK.  91 

Ah,  gallant  few !    No  generous  foe 

Had  met  you  by  that  crimsoned  tide  ; 
Vain  even  despair's  resistless  blow,  — 

As  brave  men  do  and  die,  —  they  died ! 
Yet  not  in  vain,  —  a  cry,  that  shook 

The  inmost  forest's  desert  glooms. 
Swelled  o'er  their  graves,  until  it  broke 

In  storm  around  the  red-man's  homes  ! 


But  beating  hearts  far,  far  away. 

Broke  at  their  story's  fearful  truth. 
And  maidens  sweet,  for  many  a  day 

Wept  o'er  the  vanished  dreams  of  youth ; 
By  the  blue  distant  ocean  tide. 

Wept  years,  long  years,  to  hear  them  tell, 
How  by  the  wildwood's  lonely  side 

The  Flower  of  Essex  fell ! 


92  BLOODY      BROOK. 

And  that  sweet  nameless  stream,  whose  flood 

Grew  dark  with  battle's  ruddy  stain, 
Threw  off  the  tinge  of  murder's  blood. 

And  flowed  as  bright  and  pure  again  ; 
But  that  wild  day,  —  its  horn*  of  fame,  — 

Stamped  deep  its  history's  crimson  tears. 
Till  Bloody  Brook  became  a  name 

To  stir  the  hearts  of  after  years ! 


93 


TO    AN    EAGLE. 


Oh  bird  of  the  mountain,  who  soarest  away 
To  the  cliff  of  the  desert  storm-beaten  and  gray  ; 
Where  thy  desolate  eyrie  looks  over  the  cloud, 
And   thy  ravenous    younglings    are   screaming 

aloud. 
Thou  beatest  the  sunbeams  with  pinions  of  light, 
Oh  bird   of    the   mountain,  how  glorious   thy 

flight ! 


91 


TO      AN      EAGLE. 


Thou  hast  been  where  the  winds  and  the  waters 

rave, 
And  the  shark,  like  a  spectre,  glares  out  from  the 

wave  ; 
Where  the  dolphin  is  rolling  his  ominous  form, 
And  the  clouds  gather  black  in  the  van  of  the 

storm  ; 
Where  the  shouting  gales  o'er  the  wild  waves 

leap. 
And  thy  cry  mingled  in  with  the  voice  of  the  deep. 

Thou  hast  come  from  the  crag  of  the  gloomy  shore, 
That  shook  with  its  surges  and  howled  to  its 

roar ; 
Thou  hast    dashed  through    the  breakers  and 

clutched  thy  prey. 
And  hast  torn  from  their    grapple    thy  tribute 

away; 
Oh  king  of  the  mountain  and  king  of  the  flood ! 
Thou  art  bearing  it  home  to  thy  famishing  brood. 


TOANEAGLE.  95 

Thy  plumage  is  ruiiied  and  rended  and  worn, 
By  the  rude  hill-blast  and  the  sea- winds  torn  ; 
And    thy  crownless    forehead  looks   bare    and 

gray,  — 
'T  was  the  fretting  rock  and  the  teasing  spray ; 
Yet  thou  bearest  on  to  thine  ancient  rest, 
With  a  sweeping  wing  and  a  tossing  crest. 

And  up  and  afar  is  thy  steady  flight, 
Where  the  low  fir  clings  to  the  dizzy  height, 
O'er  the  trackless  ice  and  the  vapors  curled 
Round  the  rifted  rocks  of  a  primal  world  ; 
Thou   art  lost  in  the  depths  of  the   mountain 

gloom,  — 
Thou  art  screaming  now  in  thy  cloudy  home. 

There  are  voices  deep  in  thy  solitude, 
The  savage  gust  and  the  roaring  flood,  — 
Thou  can'st  look  on  the  hoary  hill-tops  round 
With  the  snows  of  long-gone  ages  crowned,  — 


ftt  TOANEAGLE. 

But  the  world  and  its  dwellings  beneath  thee  lie, 
Far  from  the  ken  of  thy  gloomy  eye. 

Oh  bird  of  the  wilderness !  Bleak  and  lone 
Is  the  stormy  crest  of  thy  mountain  throne ! 
And  the  pleasant  valleys  are  far  away, 
Where  the   wild-flowers  bloom  and  the  sweet 

winds  play ; 
Thou  may'st  struggle  on  in  the  pride  of  power, 
But  the  happy  heart  has  an  humbler  bower. 


97 


TO   A    BIRD. 


O  FIRST  and  sweetest  of  Spring's  early  birds, 
Whose  rapturous  warblings  quiver   from  yon 

spray, 
What   thoughts   of  joy,   beyond  all   reach   of 

words, 
Gush  with  the  voice  that  tunes  thy  fiery  lay ! 
Hark,  how  the  blissful  accents  seem  to  say 
All  happy  tidings  of  new  springing  flowers, 
Of  nursing  sunbeams  mixed  with  kindly  showers. 
And  balmier  airs  to  waft  the  gladsome  day ! 


98  T  O      A      B  I  R  D  . 

And  all  is  glorious  hope  of  summer  nigh,  — 
The    hill-side    broidered    seems   with    fresher 

chaxms, 
The  breeze  that  quickens  and  the  beam  that 

warms 
Float  with  thy  voice  athwart  the  breathing  sky  ! 
Sing  on,  glad  prophet,  woods  and  fields  again, 
And  human  hearts,  rejoicing,  hail  thy  strain. 


99 


THE    BRAVE    OLD    WORLD. 


There  once  was  a  world  and  a  brave  old  world 

Away  in  the  ancient  time. 
When  the  men  were  brave  and  the  women  fair, 

And  the  world  was  in  its  prime. 
And  the  priest,  he  had  his  book, 

And  the  scholar  had  his  gown. 
And  the  old  knight  stout,  he  walked  about. 

With  his  broadsword  hanging  down. 


100    THE   BRAVE   OLD   WORLD. 

Ye  may  see  this  world  was  a  brave  old  world, 

In  the  days  long  past  and  gone, 
And  the  sun,  he  shone,  and  the  rain,  it  rained, 

And  the  world  Avent  merrily  on  ; 
The  shepherd  kept  his  sheep. 

And  the  milkmaid  milked  her  kine. 
And  the  serving-man  was  a  sturdy  loon 

In  a  cap  and  doublet  fine. 


And  I  Ve  been  told,  in  this  brave  old  world 

There  were  jolly  times  and  free  ; 
And  they  laughed  and  sung,  till  the  welkin  rung, 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree ; 
The  sexton  chimed  his  sweet,  sweet  bells, 

And  the  huntsman  wound  his  horn, 
Aud  the  hunt  went  out,  with  a  merry  shout, 

Beneath  the  jovial  morn. 


THE      BRAVE      OLD      WORLD, 

Oh,  the  golden  days  of  the  brave  old  world 

Made  Hall  and  cottage  shine  ! 
The  squire,  he  sat  in  his  oaken  chair 

And  quaffed  the  good  red  wine  ; 
The  lovely  village  maiden, 

She  was  the  village  queen, 
And,  by  the  mass,  tripped  through  the  grass. 

To  the  Maypole  on  the  green. 


101 


When  trumpets  roused  this  brave  old  world, 

And  banners  flaunted  wide. 
The  knight  bestrode  his  stalwart  steed, 

And  the  page  rode  by  his  side  ; 
And  plumes  and  pennons  tossing  bright 

Dashed  through  the  wild  melee. 
And  he  who  prest  amid  them  best 

Was  lord  of  all,  that  day. 


102    THE   BRAVE   OLD   WORLD. 

And  ladies  fair,  in  the  brave  old  world, 

They  ruled  with  wondrous  sway. 
But  the  stoutest  knight,  he  was  lord  of  right, 

As  the  strongest  is  to-day  ; 
The  baron  bold,  he  kept  his  hold, 

Her  bower  his  bright  ladye. 
But  the  forester  kept  the  good  greenwood. 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 


Oh,  how  they  laughed  in  the  brave  old  world. 

And  flung  grim  care  away ! 
And  when  they  were  tired  of  working, 

They  held  it  time  to  play. 
The  bookman  was  a  reverend  wight. 

With  a  studious  face  so  pale,  — 
And  the  curfew-bell,  with  its  sullen  swell. 

Broke  duly  on  the  gale. 


THE   BRAVE   OLD   WORLD.     103 

And  so  went  by,  in  this  brave  old  world, 

Those  merry  days  and  free ; 
The  king  drank  wine  and  the  clown  drank  ale, 

Each  man  in  his  degree  ; 
And  some  ruled  well  and  some  ruled  ill, 

And  thus  passed  on  the  time, 
With  jolly  ways  in  those  brave  old  days, 

When  the  world  was  in  its  prime. 


104 


THE    SKATER. 


The  earth  is  white  with  gleaming  snow, 

The  lake  one  sheet  of  silver  lies, 
Beneath  the  morning's  ruddy  glow 

The  frosty  vapors  round  us  rise  ; 
Sweet  is  the  cool  and  springing  air, 

That  waves  the  pine  trees  on  the  hill, 
But  voiceless  as  a  whispered  prayer 

Breathes  down  the  valley  clear  and  still. 


THE      SKATER.  106 

Come,  't  is  an  hour  to  stir  the  blood 

To  glowing  life  in  every  vein ! 
Up,  for  the  sport  is  keen  and  good 

Across  the  broad  and  icy  plain. 
On  each  impatient  foot  to-day 

The  ringing  steel  again  we  '11  bind, 
And  o'er  the  crystal  sea,  away,  — 

We  '11  leave  the  world  and  care  behind. 


And  oh,  what  joy  is  ours  to  play 

In  rapid  round  and  swift  career, 
And  snatch,  beneath  the  wintry  day, 

Our  moment's  rest  and  hasty  cheer  ! 
Then  when  the  brief  sweet  day  is  done, 

And  stars  above  begin  to  blink, 
Down  the  broad  lake  that  bears  us  on 

We  meet  our  sweethearts  on  the  brink. 


106  THE      SKATER. 

We  heard  their  cheerful  laughters  ring, 

Our  bounding  hearts  gave  quick  reply,  — 
With  rapid  sweep  around  we  spring, 

Like  headlong  winds  away  we  fly  ;  — 
We  greet  them  well  !    How  brightly  glow 

Their  cheeks  that  kiss  the  frosty  air ! 
And  homeward,  o'er  the  moon-clad  snow, 

Each  proud  boy  leads  his  willing  fair. 


Then  gathered  round  the  cheerful  blaze, 

While  gusts  without  are  blowing  shrill, 
With  laugh  and  jest  and  merry  lays 

We  pass  the  jocund  evening  still : 
Around  the  board  our  feats  all  told. 

Comes  nature's  welcome  hour  of  rest, 
And  slumbers  never  bought  with  gold 

Sit  light  on  each  untroubled  breast. 


THE      SKATER.  107 

No  lagging  pulse  impedes  our  sleep, 

No  startling  dreams  our  couch  annoy, 
But  health  and  peace  in  quiet  deep 

Smile  hovering  round  the  country  boy. 
Then,  when  the  morning,  sharp  and  clear, 

Springs  gaily  o'er  the  glistening  hill, 
With  hardy  sports  we  hail  it  near. 

Or  hardy  labors  bless  it  still. 


108 


BURNING    OF    THE    TOWER. 


O  Tower  of  London !    Not  the  lurid  flame 
Can  cleanse  the  plague  that  haunts  thy  chambers 

old, 
Nor   wreathing  smoke,    in  volumed  blackness 

rolled, 
Blot  the  foul  record  of  thy  lasting  shame  ! 
Time  hallows  not  the  guilty ;  and  thy  name, 
What  shadowy  hosts  it  summons  from  the  grave  ! 
Sweet  babes  and  hoary  heads ;  the  pure,  the  brave 


BURNING      OF      THE      TOWER.         109 

King,  prelate,  patriot,  knight  and  gentle  dame ; 
Tears,  anguish,  torture,  blood;  the  tyrant's  art. 
The  martyr's  crown ;  see  Raleigh,  Russell  rise, 
Sydney,  and  Bullen's  gospel-lighted  eyes,  — 
All  woman's  faith  and  man's  unshaken  heart ! 
Call   them  not    shadows    England's   martyred 

dead,  — 
As  Truth  immortal  they,  thou  but  the  shadow 

fled! 


110 


ODE    FOR    POLAND.     1830. 


Hurrah  !  the  Polack's  up  at  last,  — 

And  river  and  plain  ring  out 
To  pealing  drum  and  trumpet  blast, 

And  stormy  battle-shout ! 
From  the  fevered  sleep  of  years. 
From  the  couch  of  blood  and  tears, 
Where  his  struggling  soul  in  vain 
Wrestled  with  the  galling  chain,  — 


ODE      FOR      POLAND.  Ill 

Lo,  he  springs  with  lion-leap  ! 

Off  he  hurls  the  accursed  yoke,  — 
Shakes  away  the  gloomy  sleep 

His  iron  dreams  at  length  have  broke,  — 
As  an  eagle,  when  he  flings 
Slumber  from  his  rufiled  wings ! 


II. 

Sword  and  lance  are  in  the  sun,  — 

Plume  and  banner  on  the  breeze,  — 
Pole  and  Cossack,  Frank  and  Hun, 

From  wood  and  plain  and  distant  seas, 
From  many  a  battle  lost  and  won, 
With  souls  of  flame,  come  thundering  on. 
Aloft  they  shake  their  javelin-reeds, 
Fiercely  they  rein  their  fiery  steeds. 
And  wave  the  glittering  steel  on  high, 
^nd  shout  aloud  their  battle-cry  ! 


112  ODE      FOR      POLAND. 

Carpathia  sends  her  mountain  forms, 

To  swell  the  chorus  of  the  host, 
And  here  is  maiiy  a  voice  of  storms 

From  the  Baltic's  sea-vext  coast. 
See  the  Black  Forest's  deep  recess 

Its  gaunt  and  savage  children  pour, 
So  wildly  strange  in  form  and  dress. 

Never  Christian  host  before 
Hath  seen  riders  such  as  these ! 
As  a  mighty  torrent  heaves 

Wave  on  wave  in  stormy  wrath, 
As  a  forest's  scattered  leaves, 

In  the  whirlwind's  desert  path  ; 
Like  the  rush  of  rolling  seas. 
Now  they  gather  to  the  fray. 
From  a  thousand  distant  plains, 
With  furious  pace  and  mingling  ranks,  — 
And,  as  they  gallop  up  the  banks 

Of  the  swift  Borysthenes, 


« 


ODE      FOR      POLAND.  113 

On  steeds  as  wild  and  fierce  as  they,  — 
Their  desert  coursers'  shaggy  manes. 

And  the  crimson  streamers  that  over  them  play 
Float  to  the  troubled  breeze  ! 


in. 

The  vulture  and  Muscovite  soon  will  be  here,  • 

The  wolf  and  the  Tartar,  keen  for  blood,  - 
But  what  care  ye  for  the  Calmuck  spear. 

Or  the  Tartar's  thirsty  brood  ? 
Know  ye  not  what  living  story 
Welcomes  him  who  strikes  for  glory  ? 
But  when  Freedom's  battle-brand 

Leaps  exulting  from  its  sheath, 
Songs  eternal  crown  the  band. 

Flowers  immortal  wreathe  ! 

8 


114  ODE      FOR      POLAND. 

IV. 

What  though  France  stand  idly  by, 

And  will  not  draw  the  promised  blade, 
Though  your  sons  in  thraldom  die, 

Wanting  the  reluctant  aid, 
She  seems  to  proffer  even  yet,  — 
What  though  Christendom  forget 

How  ye  bore  the  brunt  of  war 

'Gainst  the  vengeful  Moslemah, 
When  kingly  Sobieski  stood 

By  Vienna's  trembling  walls, 
And  drove  the  Turk,  'mid  seas  of  blood, 

Back  recreant  to  his  harem -halls  ! 
What  though  Europe's  knightly  crests 
No  more  in  Freedom's  battle  wave,  — 
What  better  bulwark  would  ye  have. 

To  repel  a  tyrant-lord. 
Than  your  children's  manly  breasts. 

Than  your  fathers'  conquering  sword  ! 


115 


WASHINGTON'S    ELM.      CAMBRIDGE. 


There  's  an  old  elm  tree,  that  may  still  be  seen 
In  the  pride  and  beauty  of  summer  green ; 
Its  gorgeous  front  to  the  sky  it  rears, 
And  its  trunk  is  grey  with  the  moss  of  years  ; 
When  its  sturdy  arms  to  the  breeze  it  throws, 
Each  tossing  bough  like  a  broad  plume  flows. 

That  gallant  tree  has  withstood  the  blast 
For  a  hundred  years  and  still  stands  fast  j 


The  forest  has  bowed  to  the  touch  of  time, 
Gone  is  the  red-man  that  looked  on  its  prime, 
And  races  have  risen  and  past  away 
Since  the  tree  first  stood  in  its  green  array. 

And  gallant  the  sight  that  once  was  seen 
Under  the  shade  of  its  branches  green  ; 
When  the  hope  of  a  nation  was  gathered  there, 
In  the  golden  sunlight  and  glowing  air, 
The  wise  and  the  brave  from  camp  and  hall, 
And  their  pride  and  glory,  the  Chief  of  all. 

From  the  city's  crowded  streets  they  come. 
From  the  deep  lone  vale  and  the  mountain  home 
Man  in  the  strength  of  his  manhood's  hour. 
Stripling  forms  from  their  mother's  bower, 
Youth  in  the  flush  of  its  youthful  charms, 
And  aged  men,  —  and  they  stood  in  arms. 


Washington's    elm.  117 

They  were  there  in  the  true  old  rallying  name. 
That  has  long  stirred  hearts  by  the  fireside  flame, 
To  pledge  to  their  hero  the  peerless  faith, 
Redeemed  on  many  a  field  of  death, 
In  wild  disaster's  dreariest  hour. 
In  the  stormy  battle's  day  of  power. 

And  the  graves  of  their  foemen  thickly  stand 
On  a  soil  which  is  not  their  fathers'  land ; 
And  they,  the  true-hearted,  heard  no  more 
The  sound  of  war  on  a  peaceful  shore  ; 
But  the  world's  bright  annals  wrote  them  free, 
From  the  hour  they  met  by  the  old  elm  tree. 

But  oh,  as  memory  wanders  back 
With  a  thrilling  pulse  from  her  blazing  track, 
Whence  shall  she  summon  such  hearts  of  old, 
Souls  of  fire,  the  true  and  the  bold  ? 
Where  the  careless  wild-flower  creeps,  — 
Where  the  dew-drop  only  weeps ! 


118 


THE  PRESIDENT'S  FUNERAL  HYMN.    1841. « 


Rest,    wearied    soldier,    rest,  —  thy    work    is 

done,  — 
Thy   last    great    battle    fought,  —  the    victory 

won,  — 
And  where  thy  country's  genius  vigil  keeps 
Around  thine  honored  grave,  a  nation  weeps. 


FUNERAL      HYMN.  119 

II. 

Not  'mid  the  tumult  of  the  swelling  fight 
On  thy  long  day  came  down  the  peaceful  night ; 
Nor  where  the  murmurs  of  thy  forest-tide, 
Calm  as  thy  reverend  years,  forever  glide. 


III. 

But  'mid  thy  country's  annals,  that  proclaim 
Thy  worth,  thy  valor  and  thine  honest  fame, 
To-day  the  people's  chief  we  bade  thee  hail,  — 
To-morrow  came,  and  swelled  thy  funeral  wail ! 


IV. 

Rest,  patriot-hero,  rest,  —  the  war  of  life 
No  more  shall  vex  thee  with  its  fevered  strife, 
Nor  mortal  care,  nor  pomp  of  earthly  state. 
Weigh  down  thy  soul,  — the  toil  of  being  great ! 


130  FUNERAL      HYMN, 


All  human  things  are  vain ;  the  mightiest  power 
Fades  like  a  shadow,  —  withers  in  an  hour  ; 
Our  proudest  hopes  decay,  —  our  surest  trust 
Dissolves  and  dies,  — and  we  ourselves  are  dust. 

VI. 

And  while  thy  name  floats  down  time's  rolling 

stream, 
The  soldier's  glory  and  the  sage's  theme,  — 
Taught  by  thy  fate,  let  this  the  nations  own, 
That  God  on  high  is  Great  and  God  alone  ! 


121 


PITY    THE    POOE. 


Pity  the  poor,  ye  sons  of  clay, 
Nor  coldly  dare  to  turn  away, 

To  nature's  claim  unjust ; 
Your  costly  robes,  in  sight  of  Heaven, 
Are  with  their  tattered  garments  even, 

And  all  is  kindred  dust. 


122  PITY      THE      POOR. 

His  piercing  eye  alike  regards, 
Alike  His  equal  hand  rewards 

The  lofty  and  the  low  ; 
Through  all  the  forms  of  things  He  sees, 
All  thy  fond  heart's  vain  sophistries. 

And  every  outwEird  show. 

Pity  the  poor,  ye  sons  of  clay. 
Ye  clothed  in  purple  every  day, 

At  rich  men's  tables  fed  ; 
His  scanty  garb,  his  pleading  eye. 
The  thin  gray  locks  that  scattered  lie 

On  his  unsheltered  head. 

Yon  feeble  form,  that  tottering  goes, 
Oh,  pity  her  unnumbered  woes 

And  sable  weeds  forlorn  ; 
Perchance  the  joy  of  better  days. 
Has  heard  the  honied  voice  of  praise, 

Nor  felt  the  proud  one's  scorn. 


PITY     THE      POOR.  1*23 

That  shivering  child,  —  for  pity  stay, 
And  teach  her,  when  she  shrinks  away, 

To  tell  her  piteous  tale ; 
How  bare  and  cold,  on  icy  ground, 
Her  little  feet  that  wander  round, 

Her  starving  cheek  how  pale  ! 

Yon  haggard  boy,  who  wishful  sees 
Your  ruddy  children  nursed  in  ease, 

By  tender  mothers  fed ; 
No  mother  he,  alone  he  weeps. 
Alone  and  cold  and  hungry  creeps 

Into  his  wretched  bed. 

Such  sights  there  are,  —  where  are  they  not  ? 
The  wretch  still  finds  his  weary  lot 

Close  by  the  joyful  home  ; 
Nor  earth  can  show  the  happy  shore, 
Where  want  and  sorrow  nevermore 

To  breaking  hearts  can  come. 


124  PITY      THE      POOR, 

Pity  the  poor  !    Oh,  more  than  blind 
Thy  heart  to  misery's  rights  unkind, 

Nor  claims  the  promise  given,  — 
That  mercy's  gifts,  tenfold  restored, 
Are  priceless  treasures  loaned  the  Lord, 

And  well  laid  up  in  Heaven ! 


125 


HYMN.  9 


The  world,  in  all  its  ripened  charms,  is  glowing 

bright  around, 
The  harvest  corn  is  bending  down  along   the 

yellow  ground, 
On  Nature's  ample  bosom  in  bounteous  plenty 

lies 
The  Summer's  hopeful  promise,  the  Autumn's 

golden  prize. 


126  HYMN. 

The  breath  that  ushers  morning  in  springs  joy- 
ously and  clear, 

With  softening  eye  the  Sun  looks  on  the  fruit- 
time  of  the  year, 

And  merrily  the  yeoman's  heart  is  bounding  at 
the  sight 

Of  evening's  home,  that  rises  sweet  beneath  the 
glowing  night. 


The  teeming  earth,  with  treasured  stores  in  rich 

profusion  crowned, 
The  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills,  by  summer's  sun 

embrowned. 
The  forest  decked  with  glorious  hues,  the  flocks, 

that  throng  the  vale. 
And  Nature's  universal  heart  the  Year  of  Plenty 

hail! 


HYMN.  127 

And  well  may  man,  whose  living  soul  the  breath 
of  God  inspires, 

To  grasp  the  shadowy  things  to  be,  with  uncon- 
trolled desires,  — 

Well  may  he  bring  the  skilful  works  his  master 
hand  hath  wrought. 

And  join  with  Nature's  festival  the  harvest-home 
of  thought. 


His  sail  hath  found  the  farthest  isle  that  crowns 

the  ocean  wave, 
His   hand  hath   sought   the    sparkling    ore   in 

earth's  profoundest  cave, 
His  car  along  the  smoking  track  the  courser's 

speed  outvies, 
And   swifter  than  on   eagle's   wings  along  the 

deep  he  flies. 


128  HYMN. 

Then  let  us  in  His  temple,  in  grateful  homage 

bend, 
To  Him  who  gave  us  every  good  in  measure 

without  end. 
To  join   that  glorious  harmony,  our  songs   of 

praise  be  given. 
Which  age  on  age  is  sounding  through  the  choral 

arch  of  Heaven. 


129 


TO    THE    ENGLISH    FLAG,  lo 


England  !  whence  came  each  glowing  hue, 
That  tints  yon  flag  of  ^  meteor  '  light,  — 

The  streaming  red,  the  deeper  blue, 

Crossed  with  the  moonbeam's  pearly  white  ? 

The  blood  and  bruise,  —  the  blue  and  red,  — 
Let  Asia's  groaning  millions  speak ; 

The  white,  —  it  tells  the  color  fled 
From  starving  Erin's  pallid  cheek ! 


130 


LOVE-SONG. 


Oh,  come  to  me,  the  daylight  fails, 

And  stars  are  in  the  fading  sky, 
The  sweet,  sweet  hour  my  spirit  hails, 

But  would  that  thou  wert  by ! 
My  heart  is  sad  when  thou  art  far, 

And  darker  grows  the  sable  night, 
I  look  through  heaven  to  every  star. 

But  miss  thine  eyes*  sweet  light. 


LOVE-SONG.  13X 

Ohj  what  can  cheat  the  weary  hours 
That  linger  through  the  long,  long  day, 

But  hope,  that  like  the  bow  of  showers, 
With  brightening  promise  cheers  the  way  ! 

And  thus  beguiles  my  careful  toil 
'  The  thought  that  waits  for  welcome  night ; 

But  where  has  fled  thy  cheering  smile, 
Oh,  where  thine  eyes'  sweet  light ! 


Methinks  the  bird  that,  through  the  shade. 

Sings  darkling  from  his  covert  bower, 
But  breaks  the  silence  night  has  made, 

To  hail  this  promised  hour  ; 
Then  come,  the  trysted  time  is  flown. 

And  stars  are  gleaming  wild  and  bright, 
Come,  for  my  weary  heart  alone 

Pines  for  thine  eyes'  sweet  light. 


132 


LOVE-SONG. 


O'er  the  brook,  —  o'er  the  brook 

Come  hither  with  me, 
And  we  '11  roam  through  the  wood 

To  the  wild-flower  lea  ; 
And,  of  flowers  that  are  sweetest 

I  '11  pluck  the  most  rare, 
To  bloom  on  your  bosom 

And  float  in  your  hair. 


LOVE-SONG.  133 

Pretty  one,  — pretty  one, 

The  richest  of  pearls 
Shall  leap  from  the  branches, 

To  mix  with  your  curls  ; 
And  the  breeze  of  the  morning. 

As  round  you  it  glows, 
Shall  print  on  your  cheek 

What  it  stole  from  the  rose. 

O'er  the  brook,  —  o'er  the  brook, 

We  '11  wander  away, 
Where  the  sweet  birds  are  singing, 

The  long  summer  day ; 
And  'mid  singing  and  sunshine, 

I  '11  dream,  all  the  while. 
Of  your  voice  as  my  music. 

My  sunbeam  your  smile, 


134 


SONG. 


Come,  sing  once  more  the  song  you  sang, 

And  let  it  round  me  fling 
The  freshness  of  those  happier  years 

When  hfe  was  in  its  spring ; 
For  though  my  heart  has  wandered  long 

'Mid  memory's  darkened  hours. 
The  notes  upon  its  chords  will  come 

Likei  early  dew  to  flowers. 


SONG.  135 

Thy  pensive  grace,  —  that  melting  tone,  — 

Those  eyes  so  deeply  true,  — 
Oh,  more  than  words  can  tell,  they  say 

That  thou  art  lonely  too  ; 
And  spell-like  falls  on  hearts  like  these 

The  long  remembered  strain, 
Till  griefs  like  shadows  flee  away. 

And  smiles  are  bright  again. 

Oh,  as  you  sang,  what  thoughts  caiiie  home 

That  breathed  of  long  ago  ! 
I  ask  no  smiles,  if  thus  you  bid 

The  sealed-up  fountains  flow  ;  — 
Fain  would  I  drown  within  their  stream 

The  grief  that  shades  my  years,  — 
Yield  to  the  strain  and  feel  once  more 

A  moment's  bliss  in  tears. 


136 


WOMAN'S    TEARS. 


She  wept,  — as  softest  dews  that  come 
Upon  the  floweret's  vernal  bloom, 
One  moment's  space,  then  melt  away 
Beneath  the  morning's  primal  ray  ; 
So  soft,  so  sweet,  so  pure,  so  brief. 
So  lightly  passes  childhood's  grief. 


woman's    tears.  137 

She  wept,  —  as  falls  the  summer  shower 
On  bended  grass  and  glistening  flower. 
That  lift  their  heads  to  heaven  again 
The  brighter  for  the  gentle  rain  ; 
So  laughs  the  lip,  so  lights  the  eye 
As  girlhood's  fleeting  tears  pass  by. 

She  wept,  —  as  dreary  rains  at  morn 
On  harvest-fields  of  gathered  corn. 
Where  mirth  is  o'er  and  joy  is  done, 
And  hope  is  withered  up  and  gone  ; 
So  fell  the  tears  that  seemed  to  start 
From  woman's  crushed  and  bleeding  heart. 

She  wept,  once  more,  —  the  wintry  day 
Sweeps  bleak  through  branches  stript  and  gray, 
And  frozen  falls  the  stormy  rain 
From  boughs  that  may  not  bud  again ; 
So  withered  Eld's  last  tears  are  shed. 
Lone,  —  helpless,  —  heartless,  —  hopeless,  — 
dead ! 


T8(  138 


THE    OLD    YEAK.  — DECEMBER,    1841. 


The  midnight  bells  are  trowling, 
The  wintry  winds  are  howling, 
The  clifF-beat  surge  is  growling 

In  thunders  far  away  ; 
And  heaven  and  earth  are  sighing, 
And  drearily  replying, 
'^  The  old  year  lies  a-dying,"  — 

So,  so  they  seem  to  say. 


THE      OLD      YEAR.  139 

The  angry  clouds  are  driven 
Across  the  scowling  heaven, 
In  vain  the  stars  have  striven 

To  show  their  shimmering  light ; 
One  broad  and  mighty  shadow 
Clothes  stream  and  hill  and  meadow. 
And  weeded  like  a  widow 

Droops  down  the  gloomy  night. 


Across  the  pathway  shooting, 
The  spectral  owl  goes  hooting, 
The  yelping  fox  is  footing 

His  way  along  the  moor  ; 
Within  the  farmers'  houses 
The  baying  watch-dog  rouses. 
Then  stretches  down  and  drowses, 

And  dreams  upon  the  floor. 


140  THE      OLD      YEAR. 

The  roosted  cock,  right  early, 
Sings  out  his  summons  cheerly, 
And  through  the  night  air  clearly 

The  shrill  notes  float  away ; 
And,  o'er  the  common  pealing, 
Comes  many  an  answering  feeling, 
Till  now  like  echo  stealing 

The  distant  sounds  decay. 


The  ways  with  snows  are  blocking, 
Against  the  casement  knocking 
The  wind  makes  dismal  mocking. 

With  gusty  rise  and  fall ; 
On  creaking  hinges  hanging 
The  garden  gate  is  banging. 
And  drearily  are  clanging 

The  windows  one  and  all. 


THE      OLD      YEAR.  141 

Through  crannied  hovels  wheezing. 
The  bitter  wind  goes  breezing, 
Where  lie  old  crones  half  freezing. 

And  dread,  yet  long  for  light  ; 
Within  the  rich  man's  chambers 
Glow  bright  the  cheerful  embers, 
And  scarcely  he  remembers 

How  goes  the  fearful  night. 


Little  children,  all  together. 
Cling  closer  to  each  other. 
Nor  mind  the  wintry  weather. 

Within  their  bed  so  warm  ; 
The  goodman  has  been  praying. 
The  goodwife  has  been  saying 
^'  God  help  the  traveller  straying 

In  such  a  night  of  storm !  " 


142  THE      OLD      YEAR. 

Heap  up  the  fire  more  cheerly,  — 
We  '11  hail  the  new-year  early, 
The  old-one  has  gone  fairly,  — 

A  right  good  year  and  true  ! 
We  've  had  some  pleasant  rambles, 
And  merry  Christmas  gambols, 
And  roses  with  our  brambles,  — 

Adieu,  old-year,  adieu ! 

Here  comes  the  new-year  duly, 
We  '11  give  him  welcome  truly, 
Come,  mark  the  score  up  newly,  — 

Time  flies  apace  away  ! 
Let 's  meet  him  like  a  lover. 
His  brows  with  chaplets  cover,  — 
Yet  hold  him  for  a  rover, 

Nor  care  to  bid  him  stay ! 


143 


HYMN.  11 


I. 

The  ocean's  coral  cave, 

The  green  hilPs  flowery  breast,  — " 
What  matter  where  the  peaceful  grave 

That  folds  our  final  rest ! 

II. 

Well  sleep  the  countless  dead, 
By  grove  and  stream  and  plain, 

Beneath  the  city's  thronging  tread 
Or  solitary  main. 


144  HYMN. 


III. 

Enough  for  them,  that  Faith 
The  shadowy  path  illumes, 

That  Hope  lights  up  the  hour  of  death 
And  lingers  round  their  tombs. 


IV. 

Yet  Abraham  bought  the  cave 
By  Mamre's  ancient  shade  ; 

The  tomb,  it  was  a  garden  grave. 
In  which  our  Lord  was  laid. 


And  sweeter  tears  we  shed. 
And  softer  thoughts  are  ours. 

When  thus  we  lay  the  faithful  dead 
'Mid  Nature's  verdant  bowers  : 


HYMN.  145 


VI. 


While  every  song  that  falls. 

Each  flower  that  decks  the  sod, 

And  every  breathing  air  recalls 
The  soul  to  Nature's  God. 


VII. 


For  this,  we  make  the  place, 
And  consecrate  its  bound ; 

For  this,  may  every  coming  race 
Revere  and  bless  the  ground ! 


10 


146 


SONNET. 


Methought  last  night  I  saw  my  buried  love, 
Sweetest  and  best,  on  earth  forever  lost  ; 
On  my  uneasy  couch  no  longer  tost, 
Soft  as  the  folded  pinions  of  a  dove 
Came  down  embracing  sleep  ;  and  then  I  stood 
In  the  still  court  of  death,  at  midnight's  gloom, 
And  o'er  her  reared  a  temple  for  a  tomb, 
Alone  amid  the  silent  multitude  : 


SONNET.  147 

Sudden  the  grave  unrolledj  —  and  she  uprose 
Radiant  with  more  than  mortal  loveliness,  — 
Fled  far  the  lingering  pain,  the  deep  distress, 
Clasped   to   my   heart,    how    sAveet   my    souPs 

repose ! 
Till  upward  through  the  gates  of  endless  day 
She,  beckoning,  slowly  passed,  —  mine  be  that 
heavenward  way ! 


148 


TO    A    SICK    CHILD. 


Thee  to  the  hands  of  God,  my  precious  child, 
Not  without  pangs,  but  oh,  without  a  care, 
Safe  I  commit,  and  leave  thee  safely  there  ! 
Of  such  as  thee  His  kingdom  undefiled. 
And  His  own  word  confirms  thy  destinies : 
Heaven's  seal  is  set  upon  thy  fair  young  brow, 
Heaven  whispers  in  thy  breathings  soft  and  low, 
And  beams  triumphant  in  thy  starry  eyes ! 


TO      A      SICK      CHILD.  149 

Go,  if  God  wills,  to  claim  thine  infant  charms, 
And  meet  thy  gentle  mother's  fond  embrace, 
Look  love  into  her  own  love-speaking  face. 
Immortal  cling  to  her  immortal  arms ; 
Bend  down  with  her  before  the  Eternal  throne,  — 
Pour  the  pure  prayer  for  us,  earth's  pilgrims,  sad 
and  lone. 


160 


I    BREAK    THE    SHELL. 


Done  is  now  the  fiery  chant, 
Such  as  stirred  the  hearts  of  old. 
Tell  no  more  the  muse's  vaunt,  — 
Life  is  bought  and  sold  ! 
Once  the  soul  could  hear  her  voice, 
Once  with  her's  the  spirit  swell, 
Now  the  world  is  given  to  toys,  — 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


I      BREAK      THE      SHELL.  161 

Wondrous  words  upon  her  tongue 
Led  the  world  in  gladness  on, 
And  the  sunlight  of  her  song 
Broke  the  clouds  of  ages  gone ; 
Fled  away  unholy  things 
Where  her  glance  of  glory  fell ; 
Now  she  folds  her  shaded  wings,  — 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


Once  she  swayed  resistless  art, 
Bright  with  heaven's  eternal  gleams, 
Filled  the  world's  unworldly  heart 
Brimming  with  immortal  dreams ; 
Now,  alas,  with  visions  cold 
Worldly  thoughts  and  fancies  dwell, 
Dreaming  of  the  sullen  gold,  — 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


162  I      BREAK      THE      SHELL. 

Oh,  what  happy  hearts  and  free, 
In  the  world's  uncareful  prime, 
Danced  beneath  the  moonlit  tree, 
Laughed  away  the  summer  time  ! 
How  they  mocked  at  carking  care, 
Loosed  with  song  the  demon's  spell,  — 
Oh,  what  heavy  change  they  wear ! 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


Then,  the  glorious  thoughts  of  yore, 
Winged  with  accents  bold  and  free, 
Sprang  from  Time's  resounding  shore, 
Soared  above  his  howling  sea ! 
Then  the  martyr  clasped  his  stake. 
Then  the  hero  nobly  fell  ; 
Vain,  oh  vain  such  chords  to  wake,  — 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


I      BREAK      THE       SHELL.  153 

Blaze,  oh  sun,  in  glory  forth, 
Glorious  seek  thy  daily  rest ; 
Beam  of  love  !     Still  melt  to  birth 
Golden  through  the  purple  west,  — 
Stars,  that  sang  creation's  light, 
Still  your  burning  story  tell,  — 
Dark  the  world's  untimely  night, 
And  I  break  the  shell. 

Dewy  eve  and  twilight  hour, 
Come,  on  your  incessant  round  ; 
Dreams  of  heaven,  with  every  flower. 
Blossom  from  the  tufted  ground  ! 
Cry  with  that  perpetual  moan, 
Oh,  eternal  ocean-swell ! 
Yet  the  world  goes  coldly  on,  — 
And  I  break  the  shell. 


NOTES 


LYRICAL    AND    MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


Note  1.     Page  65. 

If  distance  — 

"  lends  enchantment  to  the  view," 

it  is  equally  true,  that  it  sometimes  throws  exaggeration  around 
the  aspect  of  things.  The  better  parts  of  the  picture  are  often 
those  which  are  least  obvious  to  the  public  gaze.  It  would  be 
unjust  to  conclude  that  many  of  those  composing  the  body  referred 
to,  were  not  actuated  by  rectitude  of  purpose  and  motives  which 
would  do  honor  to  any  age.  At  the  period  when  the  piece  was 
written,  little  of  such  better  influence  was  observable ;  and 
nothing  could  be  more  dissimilar  than  their  demeanor  and  the 
aspect  of  the  Roman  Senate,  when  the  Gauls  entered  its  cham- 
ber, and  were  awed  by  its  majestic  and  silent  dignity. 


166  MISCELLANEOUS      POEMS. 

Note  2.     Page  68. 

**  TTiere  the  sage  to  whom  was  given.^* 

Franklin.     The  allu8ion  is  to  the  well-known  line,  — 

Eripuit  fulmcn  cgdIo,  sceptrumque  tyrannii. 

The  succeeding  verse  refers  to  John  Adams  and  his  cele- 
brated expression  —  "Sink  or  swim,  —  live  or  die,"  &c.,  and 
the  following  stanza  to  Mr.  Re  id,  of  Pennsylvania,  of  whom  it 
is  related,  that,  while  a  member  of  Congress,  in  1778,  a  propo- 
sition was  made  to  him  by  the  British  Commissioners  to  lend 
himself  to  their  views  of  reconciliation,  offering  him  £10,000, 
and  the  most  valuable  office  in  the  colonies ;  to  which  he  re- 
plied,—  "Gentlemen,  I  am  poor,  very  poor ;  but  the  King  of 
England  is  not  rich  enough  to  buy  me." 

Note  3.     Page  69. 

"  Majestic  stood  the  chitf,** 
The  allusion  is,  of  course,  to  Washington. 

Note  4.    Page  70. 

"  Here  is  more  than  Wolfe's  great  soul, — " 
It  were  enough 


To  fill  th*  ambition  of  a  common  man, 

That  Chatham's  language  is  his  mother  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

CowrER. 


NOTES.  157 

Note  5.    Page  73. 

The   Ballad   of  Lutzen. 

The  fields  of  Lutzen  and  Leipsic,  so  celebrated  in  the  history 
of  the  present  century,  have  been  long  well  known  as  the  battle- 
ground of  nations.  The  battle,  commemorated  in  the  Ballad, 
was  fought  November  6,  1632,  between  the  Imperial  forces, 
amounting  to  40,000  men,  under  the  famous  Wallenstein,  Duke 
of  Friedland,  and  the  army  of  the  Protestant  League,  consisting 
of  no  more  than  27,000,  commanded  by  Gustavus  Adolphus, 
King  of  Sweden,  so  often  alluded  to  by  ritt-master  Dugald 
Dalgetty,  in  the  Legend  of  Montrose.  He  was  aided  by  the 
forces  of  Bernhard,  Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar,  a  prince  well  worthy 
of  so  illustrious  an  alliance,  and  certain  Scottish  auxiliaries. 
The  details  of  the  battle  are  exceedingly  interesting  and  affecting. 
The  religious  exercises  were  carried  on  by  the  king  in  person,  he 
himself  commencing  the  psalm ;  and  the  expression  attributed 
to  him  in  the  text  was  made  use  of  as  he  gave  the  word  to  ad- 
vance upon  the  foe.  Repeatedly  wounded,  he  was  at  length 
struck  down  as  he  was  leading  a  rapid  and  gallant  charge, 
towards  the  close  of  the  action,  and  his  troop  sweeping  by, 
unconscious  of  their  loss,  he  was  left  with  no  attendant  but  a 
youthful  page,  named  Lubeling,  who  supported  in  his  arms  his 
dying  master.  A  body  of  the  hostile  cavalry,  coming  up,  in- 
quired who  he  was.  "  This  morning,"  said  he,  **  I  was  King  of 
Sweden."  Misunderstanding  him,  perhaps,  at  the  moment,  both 
he  and  the  page  were  instantly  slain. 


158  MISCELLANEOUS      POEMS. 


To  the  mere  politician,  or  one  who  is  struck  by  the  amount  ot 
the  numbers  enj^aged  and  the  dazzling  circumstances  of  modern 
warfare,  the  more  recent  battle  fought  upon  this  ground  may 
seem  most  important  in  its  consequences.  Others,  however, 
may  reflect  that  this  most  brilliant  and  chivalrous  engagement, 
following  as  it  did  upon  the  still  more  decisive  victory  of  Leip- 
sic,  animated  the  Protestant  cause  with  new  hope  and  courage, 
and  opened  the  way  to  the  settlement  of  the  privileges  of  the 
Protestant  Churches  upon  a  firm  basis,  finally  accorded  to  them 
at  the  Peace  of  Westphalia,  in  1648. 

Note  6.    Page  78. 

"  Tilly's  cruel  Word.'' 

"  His  most  celebrated  exploit  is  the  bloody  sack  of  Magdeburg, 
May  10,  1631  ;  and  history  has  few  pages  so  black  as  those  on 
which  the  atrocities  of  Isolani's  Croats  and  Pappenheim's  Wal- 
loons are  recorded.  Some  officers,  at  length,  implored  Tilly  to 
put  a  stop  to  the  horrible  outrages.  He  coldly  replied,  *  Come 
back  within  an  hour  and  I  will  see  what  can  be  done.  The 
soldier  ought  to  have  some  reward  for  his  labors  and  dangers.'  *' 
Tilly  was  himself  soon  after  slain  at  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  and 
the  army  of  the  Catholic  League,  under  his  command,  completely 
defeated  by  Gustavus. 

Note  7.     Page  86. 
Bloody  Brook. 
September  18th,  1674,  Capt.  Lathrop  with  a  number  of  teams 
and  eighty  young  men, "  the  flower  of  Essex  County,"  went  to 


NOTES.  159 


bring  a  quantity  of  grain  from  Deerfield  ;  on  their  return,  they 
stopped  to  gather  grapes  at  the  place  afterwards  known  as 
"  Bloody  Brook."  They  were  assailed  by  a  body  of  Indians 
amounting  to  seven  or  eight  hundred,  who  were  lying  in  wait 
ior  their  approach.  A  brief  but  desperate  conflict  took  place. 
Seventy  of  the  young  men  were  slain  and  afterwards  buried  in 
one  grave.  "  Never  had  the  country  seen  such  a  bloody  hour." 
It  is  said  there  was  scarcely  a  family  in  Essex  which  did  not 
feel  the  blow. 

Note  8.     Page  118. 

The  President's  Funeral   Hymn. 
Sung    at    the    celebration    of    the    obsequies    of     President 
Harrison. 

Note  9.     Page  125. 

Hymn. 

Sung  at  Boston,  at  the  Triennial  Festival  of  the  "  Massachu- 
setts Charitable  Mechanic  Association,"  1839. 

Note  10.     Page  129. 
To    THE   English    Flag. 
A  "  retort  courteous "  to  the  following  epigram,  which  went 
the  rounds  of  our  newspapers,  some  time  since,  under  the  name 
of  Thomas  Campbell,  Esq.  : 

"  United  States  !  your  banner  wears 
Two  emblems  ;  one  of  fame  j 
Alas  !  the  other  that  it  bears 
Reminds  us  of  your  shame  ! 


160  MISCELLANEOUS      POEMS. 


The  white  man*t  liberty  in  types 
Stands  blazoned  by  your  stars  — 

But  what*s  the  meaning  of  your  stripes  f 
They  mean  your  negroes'  scars." 

"  *  Meteor  '  light:* 
"  The  meteor  flag  of  England,"  &c. 


». 


Note  11.     Page  143. 


Hymn. 


Campbsll. 


Sung  at  the  consecration  of  *•'  Oak-Hill  Cemetery,"  near 
Newburyport,  July  21,  1842. 


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